


Evergreen

by Yahtzee



Category: Alias
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, wow wrong bad hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 92,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack assumes this is about revenge.  Nadia assumes it's about her inability to let well enough alone.  But as their affair deepens, it changes their lives -- and the way "Alias" might have played out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my patient betas Rheanna and Counteragent.

_Chapter One_

 

_Now_

"We ought to talk," Nadia began.

Jack glanced at her warily. They sat together in his hybrid SUV, waiting at a stoplight, on their way home after a night of espionage – if spying on her own father could be considered espionage. Given that her father was Arvin Sloane, Nadia thought it counted.

The stoplight went from red to green. As Jack turned back to the road, he finally answered. "You're right. We should."

Nadia hadn't had much time to plan what to say. Since her awakening a few weeks before, she'd been reeling – trying to catch up on ten lost months and the changes in everyone's lives.

Sydney was a mother. Vaughn was in hiding, but she was forbidden to tell absolutely anyone, because everybody except Sydney and Jack believed him dead. Her father had somehow, despite all her doubts, held to his resolution and given up Rambaldi for good. And her mother –

"Mom betrayed us," Nadia said. "Sydney most of all, but not just Sydney. You and me, too."

Jack blinked. Apparently that wasn't what he'd been expecting her to say;. "It's too early to know exactly what Irina's doing, or why. There may yet be some explanation." As their vehicle went beneath the streetlights, faster as they hit the highway, his face passed from light to shadow and back again. "But she's clearly rejoined Rambaldi's followers – assuming she had ever left them in the first place."

"That's what I said."

"I'm not sure it's the same thing." He seemed more tired than the hour could explain. "Regardless, we can't afford to trust her at this point."

Nadia took a deep breath. "We never could."

When he glanced at Nadia again, Jack had the bruised, defeated look that only Irina Derevko's memory could inspire. She knew he understood her now. "You don't have to forgive me."

"I realize that. And I don't forgive you for all of it. But I know now why you believed that my mother was dangerous, that she might be a threat to Sydney."

"I still should have known." His profile was tinted blue by the dashboard lights. The SUV's radio was tuned to a classical station, and the Rachmaninoff Concerto No. 2 was playing, so softly it was almost lost beneath the rushing of the nearby cars. "Tomazaki -- that was a routine hit. What Irina's doing now is on another order altogether. Nothing less than Rambaldi's endgame could ever make her endanger Sydney. I ought to have understood that from the beginning."

"Do you think that Mom would have told us what she was doing, if you hadn't gone after her double?"

"I'm sure it didn't help her to trust me," he replied dryly. "But no. Irina wouldn't have told us in any case. That's not how she operates."

Nadia realized, as she had not before, that this was something Jack and Irina had in common. "You kept your guard up because you had to, and the rest of us should've done the same. I understand that now. And I wanted you to know that I'm not angry at you anymore."

"You mean, you're not angry at me for attempting to kill Irina."

"I'm not angry at you for anything. The rest of it – that was my mistake as much as yours."

She watched as he debated arguing that point with her, then simply leaned back in his seat. He meant to remain quiet and let her change the subject out of awkwardness, she suspected. Learning how to read Jack's moods had been a project of Nadia's for quite a while, and it was gratifying to realize that she still had the knack.

A smile tugged at her lips as she added, "Besides, we had some fun."

Jack glanced at her in surprise, but when he saw her smile, he sighed, relieved. "We did at that."

The hotel in St. Petersburg – the evening by the river in Zimbabwe – Jack's apartment at sundown, and a green apple peel that curled down to her waist: the pictures flickered in her mind, memories no longer unwelcome. "We're always going to be part of each other's lives, because of Sydney – and now Isabelle."

"I still can't believe I'm a grandfather." The gentle light in his eyes was for Isabelle. "I meant what I said, before."

"About family. I know. That means a lot to me."

They rode on in a comfortable silence after that, listening to the music, probably equally lost in memory. Nadia felt the tug of sadness and lost, but more than that, she felt – hopeful.

Her father wasn't following Rambaldi any longer. Someday, when Prophet Five had been defeated, Vaughn could come home and be a husband to Sydney, a father to baby Isabelle. Maybe there was even a chance that Jack was right and there was some explanation for Irina Derevko's actions; perhaps they could never afford to fully trust her again, but there could come a time when it would be safe to love her. Jack could never again be – but there was no point in grieving for the impossible. They were friends, and family too. For the first time in Nadia's entire life, it seemed as though she had a chance to be truly happy, surrounded by people she cared about. She hugged herself as she let her head fall back against the seat, feeling as though she were swimming in a sea of piano notes, fast and free.

They reached Sydney's apartment complex just before midnight. The shades glowed a soft gold, suggesting that Sydney was still awake. "Do you want to come in?" Nadia said. "I'm sure Sydney wouldn't mind."

"It's late." He shook his head. "You look tired."

"I am tired. My stamina isn't quite back to normal yet." That was putting it lightly. Although the evening had been almost laughably simple compared to most of her spying missions, Nadia felt utterly exhausted. Even that sensation was pleasant, though; after months of forced inactivity, it felt good to have tired herself out. "You're right. I need to get to bed."

Jack hesitated so briefly that Nadia almost didn't catch it. "I'll walk you to the door."

He took her arm to steady her as they walked. It wasn't a lover's touch – Nadia would have recognized that – but it reminded her of other days, lost things.

At the door, he let go of her, but they still stood close to one another. The evening was cool for Los Angeles. "Thanks for taking me along," she murmured.

"I should be the one thanking you." Jack squeezed her hand, awkwardly, as though he'd never done so before. She tilted her face up to his, and they kissed – swiftly, a simple farewell. Then they kissed once more, lingering only for a second, mouths parted slightly so that the tip of her tongue brushed against his. A pulse of heat in her breast and belly surprised her. She hadn't thought she was well enough to feel this for anyone, and to feel it for Jack again –

They stepped apart. She smiled at him too brightly, and he nodded as he might have at an APO briefing. "Good night," Jack said, as he began walking back the way they'd come.

"Good night."

For a few seconds, Nadia didn't move; she simply watched Jack go. It was not the ending she'd expected; it was far better an ending between them than she'd ever had any reason to expect. She knew she should feel gratitude instead of sadness – that she would, given time. But not yet.

Within Sydney's apartment, Nadia heard sharp, high-pitched wailing. Isabelle's cry brought her back down to earth. She went indoors, made herself useful to her harried sister and fretful niece, and told herself that it was all for the best, really.

 

**

_Then_

 

"You son of a bitch."

Jack turned from the equipment locker to see Nadia stalking toward him, breathing hard, eyes wild. He wasn't sorry to be standing between her and the guns. "You're welcome to that opinion. For the time being, we have work to do."

"You tried to kill my mother. You thought you had." Nadia's fists were clenched at her side. Her skin was deathly pale, almost as chalky as the canvas combat gear she wore. "If I'd ever known, I would have fired a bullet into your brain."

"You would've tried."

The taunt infuriated her even further; Jack regretted it almost instantly, but everything about this scenario made him tense. He was angrier with himself than anyone else was, even Nadia, but he doubted she would find that any comfort. "I admit it, Jack. You fooled me. Made me believe exactly what I wanted to believe. And I rewarded you for it, didn't I?"

"Stop this. We're going to rescue your mother. If we intend to do that, we have to get started now. Or would you rather she died, so you'd still have an excuse to be angry?"

He could've blocked her slap, but he didn't. The impact of it jarred his jaw so that he bit down on the back of his tongue; the burn made him wonder if there would be blood. "Don't start acting like her holy protector. You thought you'd put a bullet in her head, and you sold me lies to cover your ass. Did your conscience ever bother you, Jack? Do you even have one?"

"I hated going after Irina more than anything else I've ever done."

The confession was honest; Jack despised it for exactly that reason. He hated giving away his true motives to anyone. However, it appeared that nothing short of confession would calm Nadia to the point of getting anything productive done.

Nadia stared at him, waiting, maybe disbelieving. The silence was his opening to keep talking. "I honestly believed that Irina Derevko had put a hit on Sydney, and that the only way to stop that hit was to kill her. I had to choose between my wife and my daughter. I chose my daughter. You can hate me for my choice if you want, but you can't tell me it was easy. Because you don't know. You have no idea."

"I don't hate you for that." Her voice was quieter now, but not calmer. "I hate you for not telling me. I hate you for lying to me as a way of keeping me in your bed."

"That was never my motivation."

"Fucking me was only secondary? You know, Jack, I believe you. It's very easy to believe you about that."

"Stop twisting my words around."

"You can play with my mind and my body, but I can't even play with your words? That doesn't seem fair."

Jack shut the weapons locker, hard enough that its thin metal doors reverberated in the cinderblock room. "What precisely do you want from me? An admission that I was wrong? I was wrong to go after Irina, so wrong that it sickens me."

Nadia lifted her chin. "But you don't think you were wrong in lying to me. Not even now."

"No."

Her laugh was ugly. "I asked my father once if you were always cold. He said that you were, and ever since then I've often thought, what a lie. Why would my father tell such a ridiculous lie?" Her dark eyes gleamed with contempt. "Now I know it was probably the only true thing he ever said to me."

"I lied to you to give you peace of mind."

"And to protect yourself! You knew I'd sworn to kill my mother's murderer."

Jack had never felt contempt for her before. "Ask yourself, in seriousness, whether you honestly believe that I have ever, even in my most vulnerable moment, been afraid of you."

"I could've killed you, Jack. I had enough opportunities. I would've gone home with you, let you fuck me until you were so exhausted you couldn't see straight – you don't think I could've gone through with it? I could have." He believed her. In some ways, it had never been more clear that she was Irina's daughter. "And then, while you were sleeping, naked and satisfied with yourself, I could've taken my gun from its holster and finished you off while the smile was still on your face."

"Charming image. But I thought we weren't talking about what I tried to do to Irina. I thought we were discussing the fact that I lied to you, and the fact you refuse to face, which is that those lies made you stronger."

"I'm strong enough without your brand of help. Do you really consider your lies such precious gifts?"

"You thought you had avenged your mother. It was the only thing I could ever have done for you that would make up in any way for having taken her from you."

Nadia folded her arms. The body language was hostile, but defensive; her attack was near an end. Jack couldn't quite feel relieved. "And the fact that these lies made it easier for you to keep me as your lover – that was merely convenient?"

"Yes."

Her cheeks flushed with anger, and he steeled himself for another slap. Instead, Nadia remained controlled. She seemed to be staring at him across some great chasm, a distance he felt sure he would never close again. "That's an ugly truth, Jack. But your lies were even worse. Can you possibly understand that? I don't think so. Old dog, new tricks, same old story."

The word "old" dug under Jack's skin nearly as badly as anything else she'd said, all the more so because it felt so true. He had rarely felt so old as he had in the week since they'd learned that Irina had not actually placed the hit.

Focus, he told himself, and he told Nadia too: "We're going to rescue your mother today. She's alive, and we can bring her back to Los Angeles. That's my first priority, and I suspect it's yours too. If you want revenge, take it later."

"By telling Sydney exactly what kind of scum her father is?"

For the first time, he felt a shiver of menace. Jack said only, "You aren't going to tell your sister."

"No. It would hurt her, and I don't hurt people for no reason. Unlike you." Nadia took a deep breath. "We'll get Mom back. In the end, that's all that matters. Because you don't matter to me, Jack. Not anymore, and not ever again."

It hurt more than he would have thought. But then Jack remembered Irina's face. She would be furious – God, would she ever be furious – but if there was anyone who could understand the need for desperate measures, it would be Irina. "I'm glad she's all right. That you'll get to know her."

"I'm only sorry I ever knew you." Nadia stalked out of the weapons room without looking back.

Jack stood alone for a few seconds, not loading up gear or doing anything but taking in what had just happened. Sadly, it had gone better than he'd always expected; both he and Nadia had emerged uninjured, and their secret remained secret. Nadia had not promised never to tell, but he knew that she valued her relationships with Sydney and, now, perhaps with her mother, ever to jeopardize them through such a confession.

Irina. What must she have felt, when her younger daughter was taken from her so many years ago? Even the separations from Sydney he had endured were nothing, in comparison; it was unimaginable to him, the torment of spending years, decades, not knowing where his daughter was, whether she was safe and warm and happy, even whether she was alive or dead. Jack knew what it meant to believe a daughter dead. Somehow he thought not knowing might be even worse.

I am bringing Nadia to you, he thought to Irina. Their reunion was the only penance he could make for his mistakes with both women. Ultimately, Jack suspected, it would mean more to both of them than he ever had or could.

He had lost Nadia forever, and if that made him feel bereft and old, the feeling would pass. It wasn't as though he hadn't always known he would lose her; this was simply the price he had to pay.

 

**

 

_Now_

 

"Wave bye-bye to Grandpa." Sydney made Isabelle's little hand wobble up and down as Jack lifted his hand in return. Isabelle was wearing a pink cotton dress and a bonnet that was already askew on her head; he had to smile as he remembered how hard he and Laura had tried to get Sydney to wear hats, to no avail. "Bye-bye, Grandpa. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, sweetheart," Jack said. Brunch at Sydney's favorite outdoor café was an adventure now that Isabelle made it a party of three, but she had been a good baby, dozing for an hour before awakening in excellent spirits. "Thanks for brunch."

Sydney hooked her arm into Isabelle's carrier, the baby giggling as it swayed back and forth. "I should thank you. It was your treat, after all."

Jack simply shook his head. Sydney smiled wider, then headed back to her car. The breeze tousled her long hair, and there was definitely a bounce in her step. She really had healed during the past few months; Nadia's reawakening was perhaps what she'd needed to truly feel like herself again. Once Vaughn could return to the States, his daughter would finally have the happy life she deserved: a husband and child that she loved, a level of accomplishment at her work that soothed even Jack's concern, friends who understood the commitment her job demanded, a father whom she had finally learned to trust, and – and a sister.

"Sir?" The waitress appeared at his elbow, black folder in hand. "You wanted the check?"

"No, actually, I was waving goodbye to my granddaughter." He started to accept the check anyway before thinking better of it. "I wouldn't mind another coffee."

"One more coming up."

He rarely allowed himself the simple pleasure of lingering over coffee. Even on a bright, pleasant day such as this one, he would normally have gone home and prepped for work. At his age, it was best to continually review seldom-used languages, lest memory betray him, and keeping up with technology sometimes seemed to be a daily task. But Jack wanted some time to think about personal matters, especially Nadia.

Jack rarely sought absolution; he was willing to carry his sins and was accustomed to their weight. The unexpected grace of Nadia's forgiveness had caught him off-guard, and he was left both grateful and somewhat disoriented.

Maybe it was the shock of learning about Irina's betrayal that had persuaded her to forgive him. Or perhaps, with her father vindicated, she felt something like the sense of deliverance that Sydney had found. Happy endings had no place for grudges.

Jack still held his grudges close, but then, he wasn't expecting any happy endings of his own. Seeing Sydney and Isabelle content – and Nadia too – that was enough.

His cell phone chirped, the particular birdlike ringtone that belonged to Arvin Sloane. Expecting nothing more dramatic than an invitation to dinner, Jack answered. "Yes?"

"Jack." Sloane's voice shocked Jack – he sounded hoarse, ragged, like a man lost in the desert. "I need your help."

"What's happened?" Immediately on his feet, Jack fished in his wallet; he only had a $100 bill, but the waitress would no doubt appreciate a 60 percent tip. He let it fall to the table as he began weaving through the other tables on his way to his car. "Is this about Prophet Five?"

"Go to the house." Jack knew this meant Sloane's own house. "I need you to get there right away, Jack. I need to know that you're going. I can't leave without knowing that."

"Are you hurt? Is someone attempting to coerce you?" It was like damned Twenty Questions. As Jack closed his other hand around the keys in his pocket, he realized that Sloane had said go, and not come; that meant he wasn't at home. "What's at the house? Arvin, tell me what's happening."

"I'm sorry." Sloane breathed out hard, like a man trying not to cry. "I'm more sorry than you can ever know."

The line went dead.

Jack didn't hesitate. The apology was ominous, and it already seemed clear that Jack and Nadia had been too swift to accept Sloane's innocence. But if Sloane had been setting some kind of a trap, he wouldn't have relied upon anything so melodramatic; no, that would have been a simple invitation to dinner. Jack needed answers as quickly as possible, and he wouldn't get closer to those answers until he discovered what, or who, might be waiting at Sloane's house.

He peeled out of the parking lot, wove in and out of traffic with relative ease – it was still early on Sunday, before even L.A. could create gridlock. Concerned though he was, Jack remained calm; he had just seen Sydney and Isabelle with his own eyes, and that meant they were safe. Anything else, he could handle.

Or so he thought, until he burst through the open door of Sloane's house and found Nadia lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

"Nadia?" Jack stared downward, stricken by her pallor and sickened by the gory shard of glass protruding from her throat. Her eyes were open and dull. The shattered remnants of Sloane's coffee table lay all around her, a minefield; she had either fallen here or been pushed. And now she was –

She gasped. Her eyelids fluttered, and she made a feeble attempt to move one of her legs.

"Nadia, no. Don't move." Jack sank to his knees beside her; a sliver of glass jabbed at his calf, but he ignored that as he hit the CIA emergency dial on his phone. "It's Jack. Can you hear me? You can't move, Nadia. Not until the doctors are here."

It seemed as though Nadia was trying to focus on him, but she couldn't quite do it. Her blood seeped through his trousers to his skin, still warm. Nadia's lips formed one word, Jack's own name.

"That's right, it's Jack. I'm here. You'll be okay." He wasn't sure of that at all, but this was no time for anything as unhelpful as truth. Nadia had a shard of glass the size of a butcher knife lodged in her throat; his assassin's knowledge of anatomy told him that the glass was only millimeters from her carotid artery. Any sudden movement could puncture or sever the artery, and if that happened, Nadia would bleed to death within 90 seconds. "Stay still. All you have to do is stay still."

Her fingers twitched. It was probably a convulsive movement, no more, but Jack wrapped his free hand around hers as he gave instructions to the medevac team. Doctors, a helicopter, and blood – the type was on file, goddamned idiots –

"Dad," she whispered. "He ran."

"Shhhh. Don't talk. Remain still. They're almost here."

A tear trickled from the outer corner of one of her eyes, lacing its way down her hairline, where it mingled with droplets of blood, turned pink. Jack realized that Sloane had not only known about this, but had seen it happen – had actually fled his own home and left his daughter bleeding and perhaps dying on his floor. It was unfathomable to Jack, even now, that Sloane would not attempt to save Nadia if he could; he must have believed Nadia dead or beyond hope.

Sloane had sent Jack to find the body.

What else had Sloane done? Who else had he betrayed? Jack was certain of only one thing: If Sloane had been willing to risk Nadia's death for his goal, then he was willing to risk anything. None of them were safe anymore, and they never would be again.

 

**

_Then_

 

"How do you feel?"

"Strange." Nadia sat on the floor of the cargo plane, arms resting on her knees. Although she did not look up at Jack, she could feel his appraising eyes on her. "I thought killing Mom's murderer would – not make everything all right, not that. But I thought it would help more than this."

Jack stepped closer to her, his pace careful as the plane jostled in turbulence. From where she sat, Nadia could only see his weathered brown boots. "You don't feel any better?"

She considered that. "I do. There's an incredible sense of satisfaction. Of rightness. All this anger that had been boiling inside me for months – that's gone now." Nadia rested her chin upon her forearms. "But that only leaves the sadness."

"Grief won't destroy you. Anger can."

Nadia's life had given her many reasons for both grief and rage; she weighed her past experience against Jack's words and decided he was right. Despite Sydney's awkwardness with him and her father's insistence that he was cold, Jack was proving to be an insightful man. She liked that about him. It was the first emotion she felt toward him that had nothing to do with her father, her mother or her sister -- the first emotion she ever felt for Jack as himself. Liking, and respect.

Once she could look at him for himself, Nadia realized, she could begin to see. "You know that because of my mother."

Although Jack did not respond, or even move, Nadia knew she had startled him. Maybe he was insulted that she dared speak to him about the forbidden past. A day earlier, she would've been frightened to think that she might have angered Jack Bristow; now she hoped only that she had not hurt him.

He slowly sat on the small bench on the wall of the plane a few feet from her. As she turned her face up toward his, red safety lights outlined his profile. His expression was blank, but she instinctively understood that he was giving her permission to ask him questions – without promising to provide any answers.

"Did you love her very much?"

Jack considered this carefully, as though he did not know the answer. At last he said, "I loved the woman I thought she was."

"Laura."

"Yes, Laura." There was a quality in his voice when he said that name that Nadia had never heard before. "How much of Irina was in Laura – how much they were the same person – that I don't know. For most of my life I thought they couldn't have had anything in common, but later, I wondered." He took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"Do you think I'm like her?"

"The resemblance is uncanny."

"Not uncomfortable for you, I hope."

He met her eyes, and she knew that it was uncomfortable for him – more deeply even than she had feared.

Quickly, covering her discomfiture, Nadia asked, "I didn't mean physically. I mean – like her as a person. Is that why you tested me so thoroughly? Because you were afraid I'd be another Irina Derevko?"

"I would test any candidate thoroughly." He rubbed his temples, then rose to his feet. Nadia thought the conversation over until he had walked a few steps behind her and said, voice low, "I'd say you were more like Laura than Irina. So maybe there was something of Laura in Irina after all."

After that he left, going to the cockpit to talk over some invented errand with the pilot, no doubt. She remained where she was, still, wondering just how she ought to interpret what he'd said.

Then she remembered the kick of the gun in her palm, the wet, dead fall of her mother's killer, and the shock on Sydney's face as she looked up. The reality of taking revenge for Irina Derevko's death drowned out anything Jack had said or done for a long time. Nadia was lost in thought, trying to imagine her mother – not as the face in the CIA files or the person Sydney, Dad and Jack had so begrudgingly and inadequately described. Instead the face Nadia saw in her mind was the one she had imagined as a small girl in an orphanage: blurry and soft, with long hair and a sweet smile, arms stretched out wide for her baby.

By that night, when they got back to Los Angeles, Nadia had almost forgotten that Jack was with her. When they deplaned, Jack went first and braced her forearm with his hand as she stepped out. She felt mournful and lost, and the small gesture reassured her. "Thank you."

He seemed surprised to have been noticed. "You'll be all right?"

Jack was taller than her by more than nine inches. His arm would've fit easily around her shoulders; they were walking close enough for that. Nadia wondered why she was thinking about such a thing. "I'm okay. More tired than anything else." He nodded, and she liked the way he looked – calm, steady, landing lights painting the silver in his hair.

The moment froze for her, like a snapshot in black-and-white: Jack silhouetted on the landing field, gazing down at her, light and shadow. That was the first time she saw him as a man.

Nadia ducked her head, and they continued across the tarmac, saying nothing._ You've found your real father, _she scolded herself. _ Isn't it time you got over the daddy issues? Instead of taking them to a whole new level? _

"See you tomorrow," Jack said as they parted in the parking lot. She raised her hand to wave goodbye, but he had already turned away.

The rest of that night, Sydney told Nadia stories about her childhood so that she could pretend she, too, had known a mother with hair like cinnamon and strong hands to hold. Nadia cried more that night than she had in many years. Not until she was in bed and almost asleep did she remember Jack, and she thought drowsily that she'd probably have forgotten all about it in the morning.

Instead, the next morning, when she saw Jack at the coffee machine, she blushed. "Jet lag," she said, busying herself with creamer, even though she loathed it. She needed something to look at besides him. "It's the worst. Drags you down, doesn't it?"

"Not as much as small talk."

Well, then. Nadia raised an eyebrow as Jack stalked off, mug in hand. Maybe he wasn't cold all the time, but apparently any thaw she'd achieved was only temporary. And yet, when she sat across from him at the morning briefing, she couldn't help noticing how broad his shoulders were. She'd always liked a man with broad shoulders. Jack's coolness didn't turn her off. On the contrary, it made him safe.

During the next couple of weeks, Nadia indulged herself. She sat next to Jack at briefings, close enough to smell his cologne. She got coffee when he got coffee; once she knew his schedule. He came by to talk to Sydney once, a long, tense discussion on the balcony about something Nadia knew better than to ask about. But when Jack emerged into the main room, she smiled as she walked him to the door.

"You're in a good mood," he said, as though she could have no reason to be.

"I suppose I am." Nadia grinned brilliantly, and she thought that Jack looked just a little confused as he went out the door. As soon as he'd gone, she plopped down onto the sofa and laughed. It was a private joke, no more.

The next day at work was both busy and intense. Vaughn and Dixon were on an op in Venezuela, pretending to be drug runners in an effort to learn how a crime syndicate was laundering its cash. Guiding them through it required the whole team on comms throughout, Jack advising on strategy, Nadia translating nuances in the language that they might miss, Sydney running background checks, Marshall explaining every computer system they had to break. Her eyes burned from staring at screens; she couldn't hear herself think for Vaughn's and Dixon's voices in her head.

At one point, the crime syndicate's leader pointed a gun at Vaughn's head. Sydney went white. Nadia couldn't look away from her sister, feeling her fear as though it were her own; she realized that Jack, next to her, was doing much the same thing. They were both tensed, desperate to do something for Sydney, but helpless to do anything at all.

Vaughn bluffed his way out of it. Within 30 minutes, the op was over and they were all trudging, exhausted, out of the office. Only Sydney remained behind; Vaughn would call in later.

"She really loves him," Nadia said to Jack as they waited for a train.

"Yes." He seemed to hesitate. "Do you think they're – all right?"

Nadia understood what Jack was referring to; Sydney and Vaughn's relationship was still rocky. But she nodded. "It takes time. They're both trying, though. I think they'll make it."

A blustery gale through the tunnel heralded the train. Jack and Nadia boarded together, and she was pleasantly surprised when he sat next to her. Only half of the train's lights were working, so they were almost in shadow. "I'd like to think that Sydney is happy."

"I think she is, most of the time. Vaughn's a big part of that."

"And so are you." The warmth in his voice was something she hadn't heard since their airplane trip together. "Having a sister – having family – it's good for Sydney. I appreciate that."

"You don't have to thank me for being Sydney's sister." Nadia studied his face. "And you're her family too."

"Only in the literal sense."

"No, not only that. I know she's angry at you –"

"We're not discussing this."

Nadia would not be dissuaded so easily. "Jack, Sydney will get over it. Whatever it is, she'll get over it."

His dark eyes bore into her, almost contemptuous. "You don't know that."

"Is anything you've done to Sydney as bad as what my father did to me?" Jack stared at her. Nadia continued, "Unless you've strapped Sydney down and tortured her, it isn't. And I've found a way to forgive him. Even before I forgave him, I still loved him. Just like Sydney still loves you."

Jack leaned back in his seat, weighing what she'd said. Nadia felt his arm brushing hers, his knee jostling against her knee. Tired and careless, she allowed herself to imagine him embracing her, even kissing her right here on the half-darkened train. The idea amused her and aroused her –

\-- and then Jack looked at her with a directness he'd never had before. "Thank you," he said simply.

"Anytime."

They gazed at each other for one instant too long. The electric spark crackled across her skin and made the places where they touched feel hot, then cold. Jack shifted at the same moment she did, so that they were no longer in contact; at the very next stop he got up and nodded at her briskly. She was pretty sure it wasn't his stop, but she simply gave Jack a quick smile as he hurried out.

Whatever attraction she felt for Jack – he felt it too. That meant it wasn't safe any more.

_Stop, _Nadia told herself sternly. _Don't sit near him, don't start conversations. Don't think about him any longer. _

Let Jack go.

 

**

Now

 

The doctor was a still pale stranger at the foot of Nadia's bed, slightly blurry. She felt too weak to move, both from her injuries and the drugs they'd pumped into her. They meant to spare her pain – and she remembered the red-hot gash in her throat too well not to be grateful – but the sensation was not unlike her memories of the coma. Nadia had hoped not to lie in a hospital bed again for a long time. She had hoped for a great many things.

_"No." Her father's office in APO, crystalline and white. His smile, as loving and gentle as she could ever have hoped for. "I don't need Rambaldi any more. I gave up that quest for the most important person in my life. My daughter." _

"You needed three units of blood," the doctor said. "If you'd gotten here much later, you would've bled to death."

"Oh, my God." Sydney stood on Nadia's right, clutching her sister's hand. On the other side of Nadia's bed stood Jack. He had ridden in the ambulance with her, during the terrible moments when she'd believed she was about to die. "But she'll be all right now?"

"The blood loss was the only significant concern; the rest is minor cuts and bruises. Even the neck wound should heal nicely. But I'm concerned given her fragile health. I'd like to keep an eye on her for several days."

_"No." A room in Kyoto, lined with sketches in her own hand, a pointillist Rambaldi eye. Julian Sark and Lauren Reed, their glares as sharp as blades, and her father facing them down. "I will not risk her life." _

"I want to go home," Nadia rasped. Did she have a home any longer? All that mattered was that she get out of the damned hospital. "Please."

"You have to take care of yourself." Sydney squeezed her hand. "You're upset, and I don't blame you. But when you calm down, you'll see."

"I can't calm down if I'm trapped in a hospital again."

Jack said, "You should probably stay the night. But in the morning –" He turned the doctor. "If we hired nurses, people to be with her constantly, that would be sufficient, wouldn't it?"

The doctor didn't look happy, but he nodded. Just when Nadia felt the faintest stirring of hope, Sydney interjected, "Dad, be reasonable. Nadia needs rest, and she can't get that in an apartment with a cranky baby."

"Then she'll stay at my apartment."

Even through the haze of drugs, Nadia was shocked. Was Jack admitting – he wasn't about to say – was he? No, no, that could only be the medication talking.

Sydney merely looked bemused. "Your place?"

"I'll go to Sloane's," Jack said. "We should search the place thoroughly – top to bottom. Someone who knows him will direct a better search. So I'd practically be living there anyway for the next week or so."

"That would be good." Nadia swallowed, sending a fist of pain up and down her throat. "Thank you."

Unconvinced, Sydney said, "Dad's place is kind of cramped. You might not like it."

In other circumstances, Nadia thought, Sydney's ignorance might almost have been funny. "I'll be fine. I can't stay here; that's all."

Sydney nodded, accepting this, and squeezed Nadia's hand again. Jack brusquely told the doctor, "Put together a regimen for the home nurses to follow. We need to discuss confidential matters now."

_"No!" The orphanage in Buenos Aires, her hands muddy, her face cool and itchy where she had smeared herself with filth so that nobody would take her away. "My daddy will find me. You'll see, you'll all see!"_

As soon as the doctor was gone, Jack turned back to Nadia; his face was drawn and gray, still as shocked as he had been at Sloane's house. Her memory of him finding her was a blur of pain and terror, but she remembered Jack above her, the one bedrock in chaos. "Tell us what happened, as precisely as you can recall."

"Dad, she nearly died. We know what happened. She can put together a report tomorrow."

Nadia was thankful for her sister's protectiveness and understood that Sydney only wanted to protect her from having to say all this aloud. But it had to be told, and better sooner than later. Already the memory felt like a kind of poison within her. "We were spending the day together. Talking. Father and daughter."

Sydney and Jack shared a look.

"Then it changed." Nadia's throat was now a spasm of pain, but she wanted to keep going and get it out. "Dad went into the next room, and I was just – nothing, really. Walking around. Looking out the window. I saw his desk, and he'd hidden a page – not well enough – the Rambaldi page, Sydney, with your picture."

Pale, Sydney said, "Why would he look at that again? He knows every syllable on it by now."

"There's more." She gasped in a couple of breaths, trying to steady herself. Jack's fingers traced up and down her arm, soothing her. "I confronted him. I was – so angry. I told him to choose Rambaldi or me, but he wouldn't. Dad wouldn't."

"Take your time," Jack said. His face was blurred by the tears welling in her eyes.

"I threw the page in the fire. When I did that – Sydney, there were other letters on the page. Another message. They glowed. Dad saw that, and he tried to save the page – we struggled, and – and I fell." The pain had been as bad as being shot, the terror and betrayal a thousand times worse. Her father had looked so hurt, so frightened for her. Nadia had known then, as never before, how much he loved her.

And yet he had left her lying there to die.

"Oh, my God." Sydney shook her head. "I can't believe I'd almost started to trust him again."

"We all shared in that mistake," Jack said. "Nadia, it's over. Do you understand? You're safe now. The page was destroyed. We'll find Sloane and –"

Nadia croaked, "He took the page."

Sydney and Jack looked at one another again, but it was a different sort of look now. They were both plotting out trajectories, making guesses, thinking fast. They were so alike in that way. Nadia wished she weren't ahead of them, that she hadn't seen what they could not yet suspect.

"It has to be Prophet Five," Sydney concluded. "Sloane kept working with them, even after he pretended to come clean."

Jack nodded, turning down to Nadia. "He began working with them for your cure," he said, as though anything could gentle the blow. "That was his original motivation, and I think he must have believed he could do that – save you – and walk away. But the lure of Rambaldi ultimately proved to be too great."

Excuses for her father did not interest her, not now. "The hidden message was about the Horizon," Nadia whispered. "And the Sunset."

"The Sunset. We haven't heard anything about that one in a while," Sydney mused. "We always thought Prophet Five was only after the Horizon."

"Perhaps they were. But now all of us know there's more to Rambaldi's endgame than that." Jack's businesslike demeanor softened, almost imperceptibly, as he said to Nadia, "You've told us what we need to know. You made it, Nadia. That's all that matters now."

"You're safe," Sydney whispered, stroking a few strands of hair away from Nadia's forehead. "We've got you now, okay? Just hold on."

Nadia closed her hand more tightly around Jack's, unwilling to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

 

Now

 

Nadia had thought she might feel more healed once she returned to APO, to the office and the work she remembered. Instead, she felt even more alienated. This had been Vaughn's desk; now it belonged to a tall, dark-haired man named Tom, who had a scar on one eyebrow and something vaguely dangerous in his demeanor. Eric had always been the one to refill the coffee machine in the mornings; now this task was performed by Rachel, a blonde with a goofy grin. Her father's office was now occupied by Jack, which was psychologically uncomfortable in more ways than Nadia wanted to count.

Worst of all was the change in herself. She had come here to work full of hope, eager to discover her new family and prove her skills. Now she felt tired and worn, with a scar on her neck that throbbed all the time. Hope was only a word, one she didn't have much use for any longer.

"Thanks to Nadia's report, we have a much better idea of what Sloane – and, by extension, Prophet Five – are after," Jack said in the morning briefing. The acknowledgement was his way of telling the new agents to take her seriously, or perhaps not to hold against her the fact that she was Arvin Sloane's daughter. Nadia would've preferred to remain as invisible as possible. "The Horizon is a Rambaldi artifact that, in essence, activates the functions of many other Rambaldi artifacts."

"Or simply signals their activation," she interjected. They needed to be accurate. Nadia's understanding of Rambaldi's work was instinctive, half-remembered from drug-induced dreams, but she trusted what she knew. "It may not be a matter of cause and effect. The Horizon may simply be a kind of symbol, a sign. A herald of things to come."

Jack asked, "Is it correct to say that when the Horizon is activated, Rambaldi's endgame will begin?" Nadia nodded.

"Okay, wait." Rachel had one of her hands raised, as though they were in a schoolroom. "What is Rambaldi's endgame, anyway? World peace? World destruction? We all start speaking Italian? What?"

Sydney sighed. "We're still not sure. Based on what we've glimpsed in the past, it probably includes large-scale mind control, the deployment of highly sophisticated and destructive weaponry and, for his followers – extremely extended life. Maybe immortality."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Immortality? Come on."

"I met a man once who claimed to be a descendant of Rambaldi's apprentice," Sydney said. "But the way he talked – I think he knew Rambaldi himself."

"In the 1500s," Dixon repeated flatly.

"Right."

Everyone was quiet for a few moments. Marshall whacked his temple with the heel of his hand, as if trying to forcibly knock sense back into it. Jack broke the uneasy silence. "The good news, such as it is, is that apparently the location of another Rambaldi artifact has come to light."

"How can more Rambaldi artifacts be good news?" Rachel asked. It was a fair question, really.

Nadia answered as best she could. "The second artifact is called the Sunset. Essentially, it's the opposite of the Horizon. When the Sunset is activated, all Rambaldi's works will stop functioning, or be destroyed. It's the one thing Rambaldi's followers have searched for the most."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Does not compute," Marshall said. "If this Sunset gadget stops Rambaldi's endgame, why are Rambaldi's followers trying to find it?"

"To keep anybody from using it to destroy everything else." Tom was apparently a quick study. "Where is this thing? If Sloane knows about it, we don't have much time."

"He might not know," Nadia said. "The symbols – I'm not sure that anybody besides me could've interpreted them."

Rachel looked confused, and Nadia couldn't blame her. "But how –"

"It's a really long story," Sydney interjected, "and it has a lot to do with how my sister and I keep showing up in Rambaldi's prophecies, and we can just leave it at that?"

Obviously Sydney's patience was running out. Jack took control of the meeting once more, centering himself at the head of the table, one hand on either corner. "We have two routes to follow. One leads to the Horizon; one to the Sunset. We don't know which is which, and we can't afford to assume that Prophet Five doesn't have the same intel. That means we have to move quickly. We also have to follow up on the chip located during Renee's autopsy. In order to do that, Sydney will travel to Bhutan in order to meet with an operative there."

Nadia and her sister shared a quick glance. At long last, Sydney would be reunited with Vaughn.

"We also need two of you to head to Mt. Aconcagua, to revisit a dig site Sydney and Dixon traveled to years ago. Dixon, obviously you should lead that team. Tom, you'll take backup."

"With all due respect," Nadia said. "I'm the logical choice to go along."

"You're not physically ready for operations work." Jack's tone was brusque, more than it had to be. Nadia knew that it masked his concern, but she still felt a swift rush of anger. Did everyone want to tie her to a hospital bed? But then Jack continued, "As far as Sloane knows, you died two weeks ago. Your unexpected survival could give us leverage over him, eventually. We can't keep you a secret if you're in the field."

Rachel, perhaps trying to be tactful, interjected, "And that leaves me to help out here?"

"I'll need it." When he wanted to, Jack could look almost kindly. "I'll be staying with Isabelle."

"So, we're set." Sydney's impatience to go – to begin her journey to Vaughn – was almost comical. "Right?"

The glint of humor in Jack's eyes was probably imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. "We're set. Good luck, everyone."

Sydney was the first one out; the others followed. Only Nadia and Jack did not move, and she wasn't sure which of them had taken cues from the other. She said only, "Am I such a valuable secret?"

"I believe that your father is – weaker, believing that he was responsible for your death. That might work to our advantage."

"Do you really think he cares?"

"Yes."

Nadia knew Jack was right. She'd seen the tears in her father's eyes. However, she also knew that, no matter how much he loved her, he loved Rambaldi more. "When do we tell him the truth?"

"When we see signs of a rift between Sloane and Prophet Five."

"Will we use that to bring him back to our side? Or to make Prophet Five believe that we have?"

Jack studied her so intensely that she did not want to look at him directly. Instead she watched him watching her in the reflection of the brushed-steel table. "Whatever works."

It all boiled down the tactics, in the end. _So this is how the queen feels on the chessboard, _Nadia thought, _the most powerful game piece of all, bordered by little squares, little pawns, dark and light kings who will never move. _

 

**

 

_Then_

 

It would be madness, Nadia thought, to act on her attraction to Jack Bristow.

Worse than madness – perversity. All her life, she'd wanted a family and a home more than anything else in the world, wanted it so badly that it seemed to be as much a part of her as bones or blood. Every older man she'd desired had only been a substitute for the father she never found, their beds the only places she could belong, at least for a night or two. Now she had a father, her real father, who loved her so much that he'd changed his entire life for her, and a sister who was smarter and kinder and more brilliant than Nadia could ever have dreamed. She shared an apartment with Sydney, one that felt like it was theirs, together. She had a job that mattered, demanding work that challenged her and coworkers whose respect and friendship was worth having.

And something in her wanted to crumple up everything in her brand-new wonderful life and throw it into the fire. All because of the way Jack made her burn.

"Absolutely not," he said to her in a Barcelona nightclub. She wore a satin slipdress the color of gold. He wore a charcoal suit that cost more than some cars. Their martini glasses were coiled with lemon peel, and they leaned toward each other, framing a warm space that became smaller all the time. Nobody watching could have guessed that they were arguing. "We'll wait for Capetillo to come down."

"I can get into his room." Her lips pursed around the rim of her glass. Her gaze never left his. "You saw how he looked at me."

"Yes. That's why you aren't going."

"You would let Sydney go," Nadia pointed out. "Do you think I can't do her job?"

Jack hesitated, and she knew that his objection to Capetillo's lustful stare was a very different thing from the offense he would've felt on Sydney's behalf. Sydney, he would have trusted to feel repugnance; perhaps he thought Nadia might just enjoy a few moments of deceptive pleasure with their handsome, well-muscled mark. Apparently he didn't like the idea of her enjoying another man's company. He said only, "Wait."

"That's right." Her smile was meant to infuriate him. "You wait here for me."

Then she walked away from him, through the bustle of the nightclub, knowing that he was watching her go. Her disobedience was unprofessional, but Nadia sensed that Jack would never report it. The thrumming of her pulse in her veins was dizzying. She was halfway to Capetillo's door before she could even begin to concentrate on the job.

Madness like that could get them both killed, Nadia knew. That was the most extreme form of the recklessness Jack kindled in her – and she in him. As she paced the floor of her room late at night, treading softly so that Sydney would not guess at her disquiet, Nadia knew that the need she felt for Jack was mutual.

Which meant he was just as twisted-up as she was.

Was it revenge that made him want her? Ugly as it was to think about, Nadia could understand that. Her mother had betrayed Jack in every way a man could be betrayed; her father had perhaps been only another victim of Irina Derevko's mind games, but he had nonetheless been untrue to his friendship with Jack. She couldn't blame Jack for wanting to strike back. And what better revenge could there be? She was the proof, after all, the tangible evidence of his deepest pain. No doubt something in him wanted to kill her. Perhaps he'd channeled all that anger into wanting, into a vengeance he could only claim when Nadia stripped for him, opened herself to him, let him do whatever he wanted – hurt her, call her names, use her. She imagined the many degradations he might desire over and over in her mind. They were humiliating and frightening – and yet Nadia wanted that, too.

Sometimes she wondered what the hell was wrong with her.

"We should try to make contact with Sydney," Nadia said. They stood together in APO's ops center, watching blurry infrared figures moving upon a monitor. The dimmed nighttime lighting made the shadows deeper and the screens appear to glow. "We can't tell what's going on, not like this."

"We won't make contact." Jack had been at APO for at least the past 36 hours. Normally he was polished and buttoned, fastidious to a fault; now his face was stubble-dark, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loose at the neck. "She's too close to Vorachith. Any interference from her comm. unit would give her away."

How could he take such chances with her sister's life? "Close to him? He might not even be there! He could be anywhere in Phongsali."

"He's there. She's got him."

"You can't know that."

"I know Sydney."

The steadfastness of his belief stopped her short. It would be so easy to write Jack off as a man twisted up by espionage and by his own wretched past – but in that moment Nadia could see something pure, maybe the only purity that survived in him.

"You're right," she said quietly.

Their eyes met for an instant. Nadia thought he had to look away very quickly, but she couldn't be sure; she'd already turned away herself.

Maybe it was the goodness in Jack that was drawn to her. Maybe, instead of being something sordid and twisted, it was simple and sad – his love for her dead mother, all that pent-up need, bending toward Nadia because the emotion had nowhere else to go. At first she'd only thought of how this could damage her, but Jack could be damaged too.

They could not do this. She told herself that so many times that it seemed to be playing constantly in her head, an old-fashioned vinyl record with a scratch: _Don't, don't, don't, don't. _ Nadia stopped sitting by Jack in meetings, stopped playing devil's advocate when Sydney ran him down. She went out for dinners with her father in the hope that his love would be balm for the old wounds that left her so needy. She went out on a couple of casual dates with Eric Weiss, who was really quite adorable in a friendly sort of way.

But when she walked into APO every morning, it was Jack she looked for. When they glimpsed each other – for the first time each day, then more often, then every single time – Nadia felt the electric jolt of recognition between them. Her awareness of his presence was as constant as gravity, as though they were caught in each other's orbit. There seemed to be no escape, short of leaving Sydney, her father and APO forever; that, Nadia could not do.

For about a month, they circled one another, admitting nothing. They didn't make it any further than that.

Nadia cuddled into a sable coat as the limousine whisked her through the streets of St. Petersburg. A matching hat circled her head, keeping her warm; though it was still mid-fall, St. Petersburg was already frosted with a light first snow. The streets glittered with ice, and the domes of the cathedral seemed more silver than gold.

As they passed the hotel, Nadia gestured imperiously to the driver, though she doubted he could see her hands clearly, sheathed as they were in black satin gloves. "Here. We're late." He scowled at her, and Nadia decided it was in character not to tip.

She swept grandly through the lobby, beneath chandeliers that dripped with crystal, atop rugs so plush that even her stiletto heels seemed to bounce upon clouds. Her ops partner was at the other end of the room, no doubt doing some fast talking – Sydney ought to have been here an hour ago. Instead, Sydney was on her way back to the U.S. with a sprained wrist, and Nadia was improvising. "Rodrigo! Darling!" she cried, holding out her arms. "It's been a nightmare. My driver was a_ madman_."

Jack turned and smiled, betraying no surprise whatsoever, only relief. "Inez, at last. We've been waiting." He kissed her on either cheek (his breath warm upon her skin), then put his hands affectionately upon her shoulders. "My beautiful cousin, the contessa."

"You must forgive me. Dreadful, _dreadful_, traveling this time of year. And my poor friend Sylvie – Rodrigo, you remember, she'd talked about coming with me but she turned her wrist trying to pull her Vuitton from baggage claim in Munich. I tried to tell her this is why we have _people_ for these things, but too late! Well, I sent her right back, and I had to come all on my own. Oh, Rodrigo, be a dear and fetch me a brandy, won't you?"

He was a dear and fetched her a brandy. By sending him on that errand, Nadia also made it possible for him to duplicate the data storage chips he'd pick-pocketed from their marks. All she had to do was keep the men talking to her for a while. Given that they thought she had several million dollars she might invest in their Black Sea resort, they were highly motivated to talk.

The rest of the op was a breeze, until the very end. The men were charmed by the contessa, whether by her money, her giddy conversation or her low-cut black silk gown. Certainly they didn't notice Jack replacing the data storage chips. After he'd done that, he took a seat next to Nadia and played the part of Rodrigo with more flair then she'd dreamed he possessed. They whispered into each other's ears, making private jokes in character, and Nadia felt as if a warm glow illuminated every moment.

And then, at the very end, Nadia and Jack walked their guests to the lobby. Jack draped her sable coat across her shoulders, and the hat was jammed into her bag as if an afterthought. As two of the men headed outside to summon their car, one remained behind – and his smile shifted from ingratiating to cagey. "You two," he said. "You're not that convincing."

"Whatever do you mean?" Nadia giggled. She was already wondering how fast she could get the gun from her purse with the damned hat in the way. Next to her, Jack was very still.

"You're not fooling anyone!" He laughed and nudged Jack, as if they were in on a joke. "Your 'cousin.' Everyone can see she's no cousin."

Nadia used the blush to her advantage, glancing down bashfully as she ducked her head against Jack's shoulder. Jack murmured, "We _are_ relatives, actually. Distant cousins. So you see, we are discreet."

"Not so discreet." Nadia gave Jack a flirtatious glance, but seeing him looking down at her the same way –

The scratched record began playing in her mind again: _Don't, don't, don't. _

"Your secret is safe with me. We talk tomorrow at lunch, yes?" Their would-be business associate sauntered out into the night, none the wiser. Nadia stepped away from Jack, and at first they did not meet each other's eyes.

"We have rooms upstairs," Jack said briskly. He began walking toward the elevator bank, Nadia by his side; they seemed so businesslike, but her pulse was hard and fast now, her attention distracted. Jack seemed so large, so close.

"The porter should have taken care of my things." _There's no need for him to come with me, I ought to remind him of that. _ She didn't.

"You did well." Nadia thought he meant in general, but Jack continued, "That was quick, telling me about Sydney."

"I thought knowing she was all right would help you concentrate."

"Yes." Neither of them was concentrating at all, Nadia suspected.

They stepped into the elevator together; it was an old-fashioned one, settled in lattices like a birdcage. As they began floating upwards, bands of light crisscrossing their bodies, she tried to think about all the things down below on the real world: her father, her sister, all the bad habits she'd tried to break. Her hands were shaking. Nobody would expect to hear from her or Jack for hours.

"I shouldn't have had so much brandy." Surely conversation would help. Chit-chat about the mission would be a distraction.

Jack simply asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No," Nadia replied, surprised and slightly stung by the idea. "I wouldn't overindulge on a mission."

Their eyes met, and she realized why he'd actually asked the question. Jack had only wanted to know if she was in her right mind. Nadia had told him that she was, and now –

He brought his hand up to the side of her face. She didn't even have time to gasp before Jack kissed her, hard, then again. Nadia opened her mouth for him, bewildered and delighted at once. She'd fantasized about this so often – too often – and now it was a shock that he was so real, the scent and touch and taste of him, the silky sound of her coat sliding to the floor as Jack put his hands on her shoulders, backing her against the elevator wall, the pressure of his knee wedging between hers. There was no way to think of what might happen after, what it all meant. She could only kiss him, pull him closer and long for more.

Gears clicked, then stopped. Jack let her go so suddenly that Nadia felt as though she might fall down. She realized that they'd reached their floor, and already Jack was grabbing up her coat as though he'd merely stumbled. For one instant, she thought he was going to pretend the kiss hadn't happened, but then Jack's other hand closed around her wrist.

She allowed him to lead her down the hallway, off-balance and exhilarated, but her mind was already beginning to regain some semblance of control. They'd kissed. Just the mutual acknowledgment of desire was further than they should ever have allowed themselves to go, but still, it was just a kiss. They could stop this now. Shouldn't they stop this now?

Yet when Jack entered his hotel room, she walked in after him.

Nadia stood still as he locked the door, then watched him turn on a single lamp, toss her coat upon a chair and pace the perimeter of the room. Even now he was cautious; that was a level of self-control she knew she didn't possess. But despite all this control, Jack was walking back to her now, his dark eyes intent. _Don't, don't, don't. _

As Jack took the last step, and her back thumped against the closed door, Nadia gasped, "Wait." He leaned against the wall, one arm on either side, enclosing her. She felt as if she could hardly breathe. "Jack – I don't know."

"Are you saying that because you mean it, or because you think you should?" When she stared at him, he smiled at her, a harder expression than any she'd seen on him before. "Don't say you don't know. You know. You know as well as I do."

Inevitability rushed over her, a warm and liberating tide, the first release. It was going to happen, they were going to make love someday, eventually, no matter what they did or what they told themselves to hide from it, and so it might as well be now, they could make love right now –

Jack might have kissed her again, if she hadn't kissed him first.

His touch split her in two. She was the woman who knew this was a mistake, a wretched mistake, but she was also the woman who was on her tiptoes to tug his coat from his shoulders, who stumbled out of her stiletto heels and fell back upon the bed, who arched up under his hands as he tugged her dress aside to palm her breasts. Her mind put up barriers –_ this is Jack, this is Sydney's father, this was your mother's husband _– and then she slammed through them, kissing Jack deep and shallow, fast and slow, exploring him and claiming him so that he could belong to no one else.

It was impossible to imagine seeing anyone as dignified and formal as Jack Bristow naked. But it was impossible that they hadn't been like this before, tugging away each other's clothes, pressing together so that they could lie skin to skin. Jack could never lose control. But Jack was sucking at her breast, dipping his fingers into her to fill her up, blind to everything in the world but her. He had deliberately abandoned any semblance of control the moment he decided to make love with Nadia; the thought of it stoked the fever blazing inside her, crowding out anything like thought or choice or doubt.

Then he was on top of her, and she wound her legs around him, coaxing him on. Jack met her eyes as he slowly pushed into her, taking his time. He was a big man – so big that his body seemed to cover hers completely, and Nadia felt as though she burned. She wanted to burn. Bucking her hips up to his, she took him in deeper and reveled in the low, animal groan she won from Jack. Mine, she thought, he's mine.

One of his hands clutched her hair; with the other, he braced himself above her, his large body overwhelming hers. Nadia raked her nails down his back, making him shudder, then grabbed at his hipbones to guide his movements. Their bodies were already sweaty, their movements quick. She heard the small, whimpering sounds she was making as though from a great distance; she couldn't concentrate on anything farther away than touch.

Jack shifted the angle of his body, sliding deeper inside. Nadia felt her response arc up within her, stronger and faster than she was used to, better too --

Her climax slammed into her, almost as though she'd been stunned, and Nadia cried out. Jack's eyes looked desperate for a moment before he grimaced, thrust into her hard one more time, and buried his face in her shoulder. She felt the tension of his body snatch her up with him, then slowly, slowly, let them both go.

For a few moments they lay there, motionless. Nadia felt him kiss the side of her neck, and she hugged him tightly around the waist. Inside her, she felt him pulse once, the aftershock of release.

And then she wasn't torn in two any longer. She was only Nadia, Sydney's sister, Irina's daughter, who had made the most terrible mistake of her life.

They rolled apart from each other at the same moment. In their haste, they hadn't unmade the bed; she longed for a sheet or coverlet to tug over herself, and suspected Jack felt the same. They were still breathing hard, shaking, but all Nadia could think was that she had to get the hell out of there.

"You're all right," Jack said. It took her a moment to realize it was a question.

"Yes. I mean – yes."

Their eyes met, and she saw that Jack was as stricken as she was. The terrible desolation between them in that moment was something Nadia never forgot. It had never occurred to her that Jack might feel as lost as she did, or that he had risked as much as she had – maybe more – when they made love.

Nadia breathed out slowly, then promised, "What happened here tonight – it's between us, always. I won't tell anyone."

"That would be best." Jack paused and then, in a humbler tone than she'd known he possessed, "Thank you."

Had he really thought she might use this against him? Nadia realized that – given what had happened to Jack in his life – he would've had to think that. She took one of his hands in hers, a touch as intimate as their lovemaking had been. "I don't want Sydney to be hurt. Not ever. That's the most important thing."

Jack nodded slowly. "Yes." His hand tightened around hers, but just as the touch grew comfortable, they both let go.

"Okay. I should leave." Nadia, still weak in the aftermath, slid awkwardly from the bed. Her pantyhose were there, her shoes there – oh, to hell with it. She grabbed the fur coat and put it on, then began tugging all her discarded garments into a ball she could tuck beneath one arm. Her stiletto heels dangled from her fingers. "Our car will be here at 5 a.m., right?"

"You don't have to –" From the corner of one eye she saw Jack struggling, expediency on one side, whatever ghost of chivalry lurked within him on another. To her relief, expediency won. ""Right. You have – your key, your room number –"

"Got it." Nadia went to the door and didn't glance backward as she added, "Good night."

Fortunately, she got to her room down the hall without being seen. No doubt she was a sight – obviously naked beneath the fur coat that had fallen slightly from one shoulder, her wrinkled clothes in her arms, barefoot and hurrying to her hotel room. If Nadia had felt any less overwhelmed, it might have struck her as funny.

As soon as the door was shut behind her, Nadia dumped her possessions upon the chair and performed the same spot-check Jack had before; the room was secure. Her next step ought to have been to shower and rinse away any evidence of what she and Jack had just done.

Instead she sat on the edge of her bed, swaddled in fur with her bare legs tucked up beneath her, trying to take stock.

_He won't tell. I won't tell. It's over, it's done, it was stupid and reckless, but Jack will keep our secrets. If I know anything about him, it's that he can keep a secret. We'll be okay. Sydney never has to know, and neither does my father. We can go on from here like nothing ever happened. That's all I want._

Her body was sore. Her hair was mussed and damp with sweat. Her heartbeat was still elevated. She could still taste his kiss on her mouth.

Nadia couldn't understand how it was possible to simultaneously regret what had just happened and wish it were still happening.

 

**

 

_Now_

 

It felt like a thousand years since Nadia had been able to rest.

The coma would have looked like sleep to anyone watching, but it had been something else, something awful – a state of twilight awareness that had ensnared her for months. When Nadia remembered it, she felt as though she hadn't slept one single second of that time. Since then, she'd been in and out of the hospital, drugged and prodded, uncomfortable and weak. Instead of sleeping through the night, Nadia got by on naps too shallow to block sound, light or fear.

Ever since that terrible day at her father's house, Nadia's nightmares had made it even harder to sleep. She didn't know which were worse: the dreams in which her father never saved her, or the dreams in which he did.

Rolling over, she pushed down the pillow so that she could read Jack's alarm clock: 1:47 a.m. Nadia groaned. A querulous meow from the foot of the bed told her that she'd woken someone else up too. "Sorry, Maxine," she mumbled, sitting up to stroke the cat's fur. "I know how you hate to get by on less than 16 hours a day."

Maxine flicked her tail and curled back into a ball. Nadia pushed herself backward so that she could lean against the headboard and take stock.

She'd confessed her insomnia to Sydney, who had suggested in her innocence that maybe the unfamiliar room was partly to blame. Every inch of Jack's apartment was familiar to Nadia – the shower, the floor, the windowsill and especially this bed. But even Jack's memory could not stand vigil while she slept.

_"Nadia, I've got you, you're all right." Her father held her hands so that she couldn't fall. "You made a mistake, see?" And it was all a mistake, because the paper wasn't a Rambaldi manuscript at all, it was just a drawing she'd made for Sophia years ago of a big red sun in the sky, and Sophia had said it was the prettiest of all the drawings, the very best one._

"I'm sorry." Her father watched Nadia as she choked in her own blood, reaching up for him with glass-torn hands. "You made me choose. You made me do this. I could've saved you both, Nadia, but you wouldn't let me."

It was as if, no matter what, Nadia would never be able to walk away from her father's hearth, from the place and the moment where he had made his choice and abandoned her forever.

Nadia considered that for a few seconds, then made up her mind. Jack would be at Sydney's, babysitting Isabelle; her father's former house was no longer under guard. Nothing was standing in her way, and it wasn't as though she could get any sleep in this condition.

Time to return to the scene of the crime.

She didn't bother dressing properly, instead tugging on a pair of red yoga pants and a pink cardigan that happened to be on the top of her laundry pile. Her one effort toward hairstyling resulted in an off-center ponytail. The car keys were in her palm before Nadia even asked herself whether this was masochistic. Of course, the answer was yes, but it wasn't as though that had ever stopped her before. Maxine tried to rub against her legs, but Nadia pushed past the cat and headed out.

Her father's house – his former house – wasn't far from Jack's apartment, at least not by the standards of Los Angeles sprawl. Jack had chosen a condo in a densely populated neighborhood, the better to avoid attracting attention, probably. The Sloane house was in the nearby hills, a Spanish-style mansion in cream-colored stucco, demanding not merely attention but respect. As her car crunched along the gravel driveway, Nadia wondered if her father's excellent taste was the only aspect of his character that had never been corrupted, or whether it was the part that had corrupted the rest.

Nadia didn't have a key to the house, but she was able to pick the lock in seconds. The door swung open, heavy and solid, opening a path of moonlight reflected on the tile hallway. The slip-slap of her thong sandals seemed unnaturally loud as Nadia went inside and pushed the door shut behind her, encasing herself in darkness.

_"Sweetheart." Her father's face lit up with pure pleasure, just at the sight of her. _

This house had been filled with sunlight. Nadia had felt such hope, such humility, such overwhelming love. The contrast between what had been and what was ached inside her, and when she swallowed hard, she felt the tug of the new scar on her throat.

The living room was still marked as a crime scene. Yellow tape defined a trapezoid around the hearth; not even a mote of ash remained in the fireplace where the Rambaldi manuscript had been burned. Probably they'd vacuumed it up and gone through it, molecule by molecule, seeking clues they hadn't found.

But the carpet still glittered with shards of glass, and Nadia was staring down at the enormous stain left by her own blood.

_She looked up at her father, and her face was clean and she was wearing her best dress, and now he would save her, but instead he walked away. _

Nadia balled her hands into fists, wanting to lash out at something, anything, but the damage was already done, and once again she was just too damn late.

Her ears pricked, responding to a sound before she could process it –

The blow slammed across her back, and Nadia went sprawling through the yellow tape onto the carpet. Slivers of glass pricked at her palms, but she flipped over, determined to face her attacker – and stared up at Jack, in T-shirt and boxers, gun in hand. Instantly his face shifted from terrifying coldness to shock, then concern. "Nadia?"

She couldn't speak. Nadia was lying there again – again – in front of the fireplace, in the middle of her own bloodstain, heart beating so hard that it felt as if it were trying to hammer its way out of her chest.

Jack shut his eyes briefly, realizing what he'd done. Then he quickly set the gun down and held out his hand. "Get up. Are you all right?"

Nadia tried to rise, but her body was shaking too hard for her to trust it. She whispered, "Where – where's Isabelle?"

"At home. Rachel volunteered to stay there tonight." Jack knelt by her side. "Nadia, I'm sorry."

"You didn't mean it. You didn't know." The words choked in her throat, and Nadia shook her head. "He didn't mean it either. Not really. But it doesn't make any difference."

"Shhh. Calm down." Jack's voice could sound so gentle, when he chose. "Are your hands injured?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine!" It was almost a scream. Nadia shoved herself to her feet, stumbling awkwardly toward the doorjamb, where she could brace herself. Jack remained on the floor. She understood that this was a basic psychological countermove – keeping himself lower than her, providing her an instinctive level of security – but even his consideration was maddening. She was tired of needing someone to take care of her. "I want to cry, and I'm so sick of crying. I'm sick of it! I won't, not anymore."

Jack just listened to her. The moonlight from the windows outlined his profile in the dark.

Nadia slapped her open hand against the wall. The new scratches on her fingers stung. "My whole life, I waited for him. I thought, my father will come for me, and everything will be okay. I wanted to be good for him. I wanted to be beautiful for him. I made myself a secret agent to prove how strong and smart and fast I was, so he would be proud of me."

"Anyone would be proud of you," Jack said quietly.

"I wasn't enough. I was the best person I could be – in every way – and I wasn't enough. My father loved me, I know he did, but not enough. You would never do that to Sydney. There's nothing you wouldn't give up for her." There was no need to say that he would give up Nadia herself; they'd already established that. "I was so naïve, I thought that was what being a father meant. I feel like such a fool. I hate myself for what I used to think was the best part of myself. I hate myself for my hope."

"Stop this." He rose to his feet and stepped closer to her. "None of this was your fault, Nadia. None of this was about you."

"I know," she whispered. "That makes it worse. I've been shot and kidnapped and branded and left to die, but none of it really had that much to do with me. I'm just the victim. The offering. I think my father waited all these years to have a sacrifice worthy of laying on Rambaldi's altar. He said I was the answer to his prayers, but that was all he meant. I was something he could give up to prove his devotion. That's all."

Jack's hands closed around her shoulders, stronger than the wall she'd braced herself against, as strong as anything in the world. Nadia allowed him to fold her against him, standing behind her, his embrace a warm and heavy cloak. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't punish yourself for this. That's the last thing you should do."

The tears were even closer now, but Nadia fought them. No, she was done crying about anything Arvin Sloane had ever done or not done.

In the glass covering a Blake print in the corner, Nadia could see the dark reflection of herself and Jack, wrapped together. She knew that Jack was only offering comfort and reassurance, but she also knew that the intimacy of this touch was unthinkable for him with anyone who hadn't been his family or his lover. If her father could see them now – if he were there, in front of the fireplace, just as he had been on that awful day – he would know the truth, and it would stab him through the heart.

Nadia had always wondered if revenge could be Jack's motivation for making love to her. She'd thought she understood that; only now did she really understand.

"Come on." She extricated herself from Jack's embrace and walked deeper into the house, toward the master bedroom. It was a room she'd only visited a handful of times; once, she'd helped her father pick out a tie for dinner. He'd smiled as she stepped into his closet, with its reassuring masculine scents of leather and shoe polish, and the simple domesticity of the scene had charmed her. What a fool she'd been.

As she walked into the bedroom, she saw that the covers were turned back and the bedroom stand's drawer open – evidence of how quickly Jack had shifted from sleep to attack. Nadia peeled off her cardigan, then shimmied out of the yoga pants. When she turned, now wearing only a white camisole and panties, she saw Jack standing in the doorway, staring at her.

Nadia simply sat on the corner of her father's bed and kept her eyes locked with Jack's as she slowly lifted up her camisole and tossed it to the side.

A gentler man would have told her that she was acting out, seeking the most primitive and least useful kind of revenge by asking her father's best friend to fuck her in daddy's bed.

Jack stepped inside the bedroom, and he only hesitated for a second, to make sure the door was locked behind them.

**

_Then _

 

Jack despised few things as much as the knowledge that he had made himself vulnerable.

So far, Nadia had kept her word and kept their secret. She had as much to lose as he did if Sydney and Sloane ever learned what they'd done. Had this been any other woman, any other indiscretion, Jack would have considered the matter unlikely to create further complications.

But this was different. This went beyond mere risk. This was one of the few actions that Jack's time-numbed soul could recognize as wrong.

And he knew that he wasn't nearly done with Nadia Santos yet.

The second time was in Paris. Jack wore U.S. Navy formal whites, pretending to be a submarine captain who was actually in custody, answering questions about why he'd been seeking buyers for his ship's plans. Nadia was on comms, talking him through the negotiation with the would-be buyers at a reception at an estate on the outskirts of town. He'd never realized what a beautiful voice she had before, or how arousing it could be simply to listen to a woman's voice. Jack kept imagining what her lips looked like as she spoke.

After he'd tagged the buyers, he made his exit, walking from the mansion into the dark, fragrant gardens. It was a warm night. As he'd walked through the deepest path, toward a splashing fountain, he saw Nadia waiting for him. She could have waited in the ops van, but she hadn't. Jack had known what that meant, the question she was asking, the same moment he knew his answer was yes.

Before she could say a word, Jack had her in his arms and they were kissing, crazily, desperately, like they'd been parted for years. His white Navy hat fell into the roses. Within two minutes, Jack had pulled her black turtleneck up over her head, and she had tugged his jacket open. Within five minutes, they were on the ground, still mostly dressed, Nadia on her hands and knees and Jack behind her, taking her as hard and fast as he could without making himself shout out loud.

Within 20 minutes, they were dressed again, with only a few telltale smudges on the knees of Jack's uniform, and back at the van in time to meet Dixon. Jack managed to give all the right information and ask all the correct questions without glancing at Nadia once. She made small talk with Dixon the entire flight home.

(_"I don't want Sydney to be hurt. Not ever. That's the most important thing."_)

Jack had believed Nadia when she said this. However, he was not the kind of man who could have absolute faith in a woman's promises, not anymore. He wondered sometimes if Nadia would tell her sister the truth as a kind of confession, seeking penance and redemption for two nights' madness. When he looked deeply into his own motives, Jack was forced to recognize that on some level, he wanted Nadia to reveal the truth.

If she did, then Sydney would hate him, and Jack would suffer the ultimate punishment of losing his daughter again, this time perhaps forever. The part of him that remembered Irina's body floating in the embassy pool wanted to be punished.

Maybe he wanted to hurt Arvin Sloane, too. There had been moments, during the long years in which Jack had known about Sydney's role in SD6 but not yet revealed it to her, when he'd heard her waxing poetic about her boss. Jack had imagined the worst, dreaded it and imagined how he'd take Sloane's life if it ever came to pass. Didn't Sloane deserve to feel that same dread? Wasn't that the least he deserved for betraying Jack's trust and fucking his wife?

Perhaps Jack wasn't as perverse as he sometimes feared; perhaps he was sane enough not to wish for the affair to be discovered.

But he sure as hell didn't act like it.

The third time was in Guadalajara. Jack didn't like anything about the op, not its goal (getting information on some Rambaldi follower named Brenner), not its setting (a seedy whorehouse) and especially not Nadia's disguise, which involved a skimpy green halter, a skimpier denim skirt and too much risk. This time, he was the one who listened in on comms while Nadia flirted with a drunk man, one who was drunk enough to talk about Brener between various obscene suggestions about what Nadia might do for him. Nadia smoothly suggested variants that were even more obscene. Jack suspected she wasn't doing that for the benefit of her "client."

She got the thug upstairs, which was Jack's cue to move in. By the time he was in the room, Nadia already had the guy out cold and trussed like a calf for branding. "You're all right?" He was breathing hard from having run up the stairs.

"Fine." She tilted her head. The gold hoop earrings glittered. "Glad you got here before he did anything to me."

It was probably a joke that referred to her ability to handle the guy herself. Yet Jack found himself asking, in a low voice, "What was he going to do to you?"

Nadia paused, and for one moment Jack thought he had pushed it too far. Then she said, "He had a lot of big ideas, but when it came right down to it, I think he just wanted to fuck me against the wall."

They didn't say anything else, not even when he was pressing her against the wall, shoving into her with enough force to hold her up, with her legs looped around his waist. Jack had never imagined that Nadia could be so loud during sex – shouting and even screaming, biting down on his shoulder – until he realized it was part of their cover and started calling her every filthy name he knew in Spanish.

She really, really liked that.

At APO's offices, they mutually, silently avoided working together more closely than absolutely necessary. For the first six weeks of their affair, they never said a word to each other about it, never negotiated anything that wasn't settled with their bodies.

Then came the Zimbabwe trip. The shared assignment was unavoidable: they were rendezvousing with one of Jack's old contacts, who would likely refuse to negotiate with anyone else, and Nadia was the only APO agent who spoke Shona, a necessity given that they would spend most of the mission outside the most-populated cities. On the first night, they ended up camping not far from the banks of the Limpopo, in an area promised to be of little interest to either overzealous border patrols or territorial hippos. Two tents, side by side, and a lamp between them that gave enough light to see partly within each: Jack was reminded of Japanese paper lanterns, one blue and one yellow, dangling from the same branch and flickering with candlelight. Jack did not think much about the guide's company one way or the other, until she left. As she vanished into the underbrush, he glanced over at Nadia and felt a treacherous stirring inside.

He said only, "We ought to turn the lamp off as soon as possible."

"To avoid attracting attention?"

"To avoid attracting bugs." That made her laugh, though it was the truth; already tiger moths were circling them, clouding the air. The sound of her laugh warmed him, and Jack knew he needed to keep the conversation simple and focused on work. He cleared his throat. "Why did you learn Shona?"

"It's sort of a long story." Nadia tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. A wicked smile slowly spread across her face. "Tell me, Jack – how long are we going to pretend that we're not about to have sex?"

Jack couldn't help smiling in return. He stepped closer to her, taking his time for once. He could appreciate the way Nadia's eyes looked in the lanterns' light, the smooth curve of her shoulder as she shrugged off her jacket. Above all he liked the anticipatory light in her eyes. "Not much longer."

"Good." She caressed his face with her hand. Jack had almost forgotten what it felt like, being touched so gently. This time they took it slow, touching and tasting for a long time before he entered her. It was even better when they took it slow.

Afterward, they lay in the same bedroll in his blue tent, their skin sticky with sweat. Jack kept one hand between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat.

"Are you sorry?" she asked.

"No. We will be, but not yet."

"So you know this is going to happen again."

"We're not done," Jack admitted.

Nadia shook her head slowly, as if she didn't believe it herself. "We have to get it out of our systems. Burn it off. Something. I thought – it's happened, it's over, but it's not."

Jack was old enough to know that sexual attraction burned itself off on its own schedule, with or without indulgence. But he didn't believe in second-guessing his actions more than necessary. He was powerfully drawn to Nadia; apparently she was drawn to him. She had proved herself acceptably discreet. They each had enough at risk that they could look out for each other's interest by looking out for themselves.

And he wanted Nadia. Day and night, at work, at home, in his dreams, he wanted her. If desire was going to make a fool of him, Jack thought he might as well be the fool making love to her.

"We should discuss logistics," he said.

"What, the mission tomorrow?"

"No. This."

Nadia laughed once, then covered her own lips with one finger. "Logistics. All right."

"We haven't used protection so far."

"You really cut to the chase, don't you?"

They were pressed together from ankle to belly, still painted with each other's sweat. "I think we're past the point of being shy."

"True," Nadia said. "I have an IUD. That way I only have to think about it once every seven years or so, and you never have to think about it at all."

Jack breathed out, relieved. There was no need to discuss the matter further; the extensive battery of medical exams and tests every APO agent underwent on a monthly basis ensured that they had no other health concerns to worry about. "Where will we meet?"

She propped herself up on one elbow. "You really want to do this. To have an affair, not just –"

"Spontaneity has its charms, but it also has risks. If we plan this, we control it."

"You have a lot of faith in self-control for a man who just had crazy impulsive sex."

"I chose this," he said quietly. "So did you."

Nadia nodded. Her eyes were open wide, blacker than black, and Jack knew he would want her again tonight. Soon.

"We should meet at your apartment," Nadia murmured. "A hotel leaves a record, and Sydney's place is obviously out of the question."

"Obviously. There's a shopping area not far from where I live. Restaurants, bars, neighborhood joints. You could park around there, invent plausible errands."

"And if I ever am tracked to your apartment – it's entirely believable that we could meet to talk about Sydney or my father." Then she considered that and amended it. "Once. No more than that. I won't ever be able to stay the night."

Jack had always admired a practical mind. "We'll manage."

"Logistics taken care of?" Nadia arched her whole body, toes sliding down his legs as she flexed her feet, pressing her belly and breasts against him, smiling as Jack immediately stiffened against her. "Then we can forget about planning for a while."

He kissed her, eager to lose himself within Nadia again, convinced that – as much as possible – they had this under control.

**

_Now_

 

Jack lay in Arvin Sloane's bed, watching Nadia sleep.

When they'd last made love, more than a year ago, she hadn't been so painfully thin; he could count her ribs now, and her breasts were as small as a young girl's. The sight of her so fragile filled him with an almost painful empathy.

Not for the first time, he wondered what Irina would make of their affair, if she knew. Before, Jack had always thought about this in the abstract; when he and Nadia had been lovers before, he had believed Irina dead by his hand. Her judgment had been the judgment of the dead, mute but all-knowing. Now he understood Irina to be alive and hell-bent on following Rambaldi's prophecies wherever they led.

Rambaldi had prophesied that one of the two sisters would die. Would the revelation of this affair make Irina's mind up as to which one it should be? Or would Jack be the lone recipient of her vengeance?

Then again, considering how she'd walked away from Jack, Sydney and Isabelle in Vancouver, maybe Jack was wrong to assume that Irina would care at all.

Nadia shifted drowsily and opened her eyes. Jack had imagined her reacting in any number of ways – businesslike, shy, embarrassed. Instead, Nadia nestled her face in his shoulder and curled close to him; Jack folded an arm around her and remained silent for a while, content.

"You should eat breakfast," he said at last.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're too thin. There are eggs in the kitchen."

He could feel her smile against his chest. "That's the only food you ever make. Scrambled eggs."

"We can go out to eat if you'd prefer."

"No. Scrambled eggs are fine." She rolled onto her back so that she could look him in the face. Jack brushed her hair from her forehead and smiled. "I missed this. In the coma -- it was like living death, Jack. Sometimes I thought I would die just from wanting someone to hold me again. So I just – I really missed this."

His cell phone chirped – Sydney's ringtone. Jack immediately grabbed it from the bedstand. "Yes?"

"Dad." Sydney didn't sound good. It would be nighttime in Bhutan; what could this mean? "We've got trouble. We have to get to Vaughn, now. This second."

"Sydney, slow down. Tell me what's wrong."

"Anna Espinosa – Dad, she doubled me. She's me. I saw her, and it was like looking in a mirror."

Jack's mind did the calculations, realized the immense damage that Anna could now do. "Where's Vaughn?"

"That's just it. They sent a fake guide for me and tried to blow up our truck. I only barely got out of there." She was breathing hard; Jack thought she might have literally just pried herself from the wreckage. He sat upright and clenched the phone so tightly in his hand that it almost hurt. Beneath him, Nadia pulled the sheet around herself, unconsciously preparing for action. "Anna's gone to meet with Vaughn. Dad, Prophet Five knows he's alive. Everything we did was for nothing."

"Don't say that. We bought Vaughn time to recover. If Anna's going after him disguised as you, that means they need something from him – which means they want him alive. He'll realize that she isn't you." Jack was willing to give Vaughn this much credit. "We need to bring the rest of APO into this."

"You'll tell them today?"

"Yes. Backup is en route, Sydney. Don't worry."

"I can't help worrying." She breathed out. "How is Isabelle?"

"Rachel stayed with her last night. I put her to bed before I left. We read _Goodnight, Moon_."

"Dad, thanks. For everything."

"Don't worry." As usual, they hung up without saying goodbye.

Nadia was already fishing her clothes from the floor. "Anna's doubled herself as Sydney?"

"So it appears. We have to move now." He dressed as Nadia finished putting herself together; his thoughts were focused on the tasks ahead, the potential plans that Prophet Five might have put in motion, until Nadia began walking toward the door. "I'll see you later?"

"At the office, yeah. I just need to get dressed."

Jack took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh." Nadia's bed-mussed hair obscured part of her face, but Jack suspected that wasn't the reason her expression was so hard to read. "What do you want?"

He considered this carefully. It would be too easy to give a quick answer; any easy response would be a lie, and this was one situation Jack did not want to lie his way out of. "Sydney and I – things are better between us now."

"I've seen that." She smiled gently. "I'm happy for both of you."

"This is the first time in decades that I haven't had to keep secrets from my daughter." Jack remembered Sydney's smiling face as she laid Isabelle in his arms for the first time. "I don't relish the thought of lying to her again."

Nadia lifted her chin. "So you want to end this."

"No. I don't."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, weighing what that meant. Jack was as astonished to realize it as Nadia must have been to hear it, but he would not have spoken at all if he hadn't been willing to stand by his words.

For too long, the connection between him and Nadia had tormented and perplexed them both. The situation involving Irina and Sloane could get no more confusing, and the stakes could be no higher.

At last she said, "We're not done."

The expression on her face was complicated – whimsical and sad and sexy all at once. "You sound very sure," Jack replied.

"Think about it, Jack. It can't be over. It hasn't blown up in our faces yet."

That was the last joke he should ever have smiled at, but he smiled anyway.

She grinned back at him. "Let's go raise Vaughn from the dead."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

 

Now

"Renee was the one who followed up on the Sunset," Vaughn said. "The Horizon was my half of the work."

"Figures." Jack had liked Renee Rienne well enough during their brief collaboration six months ago; she'd been intelligent and pragmatic, and he believed she had been sincere in her concern for Sydney. This, however, was the first time he'd mourned her death. Renee had been the one who might've found the answers they sought. Prophet Five had chosen wisely when they'd chosen to eliminate her first.

Vaughn shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. This might have been because of his wounds – he still needed a cane at the end of the day – but Jack suspected it was the strangeness of openly discussing Renee Rienne, Prophet Five and the other secrets of Andre Michaux. He need not have worried, so far as Jack was concerned; the secret had been one Vaughn kept to protect Sydney, a motive Jack understood. "I know where Renee kept some of her papers. There are vaults in Berlin, Caracas, Perth, a few other places. I could lead a team –"

"Give us instructions, and we'll send other teams. You need time to recover." Jack couldn't suppress a smile as he glanced toward the hallway. "And I think you need more time at home."

Vaughn grinned too as Sydney walked out, Isabelle on one hip. "How are my girls?"

Jack remembered calling Sydney and Laura that. _My girls._ How much pride and love those two words could contain.

"We're clean and dry." Sydney patted Isabelle's behind. "Tia Nadia turns out to be a truly gifted changer of diapers."

"Compared to cracking a safe in 30 seconds, it isn't so hard." Nadia had already gone to the sink to scrub her hands. Her hair was tucked into two pigtails, and she wore a T-shirt emblazoned with the words Death Cab for Cutie, whatever the hell that meant. She seemed even younger than she really was. It was hard to remember, in moments like this, that they were lovers.

Vaughn scooped his daughter into his arms. Isabelle considered her father gravely for a moment, then paid him the ultimate baby compliment of grabbing his T-shirt sleeve and gnawing on it. "You'll have to give your aunt more of a challenge next time, won't you?"

The three younger people kept laughing, talking and making jokes; Jack remained at the corner of the room, slightly outside their circle. He knew that he would be welcomed if he came closer or spoke, but he did not.

Instead he stepped onto the balcony – the sliding glass door was open so that the breeze would flow through the room. Jack breathed in deeply, smelling the salt air of the nearby sea.

_My girls. _

He knew that he wasn't supposed to be alone on the edges. His wife ought to have been with him – Sydney's mother, Isabelle's grandmother. Laura. Irina. Whoever it was that he had loved.

Irina had held Isabelle in her hands, both of them slippery with blood. As long as Jack lived, he would never forget the wonder on her face or the gentleness with which she had announced that the baby was a girl. Before he or Sydney had been able to look away from this brand-new life, Irina had left them, apparently forever.

On the sofa, Vaughn now held Isabelle in his lap; Nadia sat a few feet away, a throw pillow in front of her face. Slowly she peeked around the corner, until Isabelle's eyes lit up and she started to laugh. Giggling, Nadia pulled the pillow back in front of her, preparing to play peek-a-boo again. Jack would have thought he was too worn-out to find joy is such simple things ever again. He was grateful to be wrong, but he could not shake the feeling that his wife should have been here, watching this by his side.

Irina had made a choice, and no doubt she had a reason. Jack would simply never be allowed to know what it was. There were times when he thought nothing else Irina had ever been or done hurt as much as the unanswered questions she left behind.

Taking a deep breath, Jack deliberately refocused his thoughts and watched Nadia and Isabelle laughing together. It was impossible not to take comfort from that sound.

"Hey." Sydney stepped through the door to stand by his side. "They're having fun, huh?"

"You never liked peek-a-boo," Jack said. "It scared you."

"I guess it took me a while to learn to the value of hiding some things." She was gazing at Vaughn, and Jack understood that he was being tacitly thanked for devising the plan that had kept Vaughn alive. "Is anything wrong?"

"Not really." He paused, then confessed, "I was thinking about your mother."

Sydney nodded slowly. It was a measure of their improved relationship that he could say such a thing to her, and of Sydney's greater wisdom, that she could hear it without immediately revealing her own reaction.

Eventually she said, "When I came home and found Mom here, in that first second, I really believed she'd come to see me. To hear about the baby. Even though she hadn't answered any of our messages, I wanted to believe in her."

"I know."

"In Vancouver, when I was in labor and you were downstairs, Mom said that the first thing she thought after I was born – Dad, she said that she knew she'd made a mistake."

Jack stared at Sydney, incredulous. That was a lie, and he knew it; he had been with his wife during her labor, seen the ecstatic smile she'd given him as they held their daughter for the first time. Irina Derevko was an exceptional actress, but no one was that good. "Don't believe her."

"I do believe her, and you should too."

"Why do you assume she's suddenly begun telling the truth now?"

"Her words don't matter, but her actions do. She betrayed us and left us, again. That's what we have to go by."

"You don't have to caution me against trusting her again." Jack took a deep breath and tried to see only little Isabelle. It helped to remember the good that had come from what he and Irina shared, whatever it had been.

"Have you heard from Elizabeth lately?"

Jack blinked at the non sequitur. "She let me know that her physical therapy is going well. Her husband accepted her cover story, and MI6 approved her investigation."

"Her husband." Sydney folded her arms in front of her, nodding as if deep in thought, though Jack could tell she was being playful. "I got the impression that she wasn't totally attached to him."

"They're happily married." When Sydney shot him a sidelong glance, Jack sighed. "Elizabeth and I are friends."

"For now."

"From now on."

Sydney studied Vaughn, Isabelle and Nadia for a few more seconds before she said, "I used to think you were alone because that's what you chose. What you wanted. I realize now that's not true."

"Sydney, my – romantic status – shouldn't be a concern of yours."

Nadia held her arms out for Isabelle, hugging the baby to her chest as Vaughn limped to the refrigerator. The radiance of her smile never failed to affect him, and Jack kept himself entirely still and expressionless, lest Sydney glimpse the truth.

She said only, "I'm not trying to push you or intrude. But you don't have to be alone forever, Dad."

Jack put one hand on Sydney's shoulder. "I'm not alone."

Sydney kissed him on the cheek, and for that moment, at least, Jack was content.

He and Nadia left together, just as they'd arrived together; neither Sydney nor Vaughn seemed to think anything was strange about Jack picking Nadia up on his way to visit. Sometimes the best way to keep something secret was to leave certain aspects in the open.

"I can't get over how fast she's growing," Nadia said as he drove them toward his apartment. For an instant, Jack thought she was talking about Sydney, remembering her as a teenager, a toddler, a baby. "Isabelle's big for her age, isn't she?"

"I don't know. I never spent any time with a baby besides Sydney and that – I don't remember, exactly."

"You weren't around much."

Although her words were simple fact, Jack felt stung by the reminder of what a poor father he had been to Sydney for so much of her life. Then again, he was in a temper and knew it; the last thing he wanted to do was take out his mood on Nadia.

As he glanced sideways at her, he realized that he wasn't the only one feeling melancholy. Nadia's stare was distant and sad, reaching far beyond the L.A. traffic that surrounded them. "Are you all right?"

She gave him an uneven little smile. "Sort of sad, I guess."

"I thought you were having a good time."

"I did. It's just –" Nadia shrugged. "I look at Isabelle, and see how wonderfully she's cared for, and I think about how different it was for me. Is that childish? Selfish?"

"Only human."

"I wonder. It feels sick, being jealous of a baby because she's a child born of love. Instead of whatever I am."

If their current intel was correct, Irina might be working with Sloane now. Perhaps whatever Nadia's parents had had together was more meaningful than what he and Irina had shared; certainly it appeared to have lasted longer. Jack didn't say any of this to Nadia because he suspected it wouldn't be comforting. Instead he covered one of her hands with one of his. After a few moments, she shifted so that she could twine their fingers together.

Later, at his apartment, Jack felt as though he could not get close enough to Nadia – even when he stripped off her T-shirt, even when he rested his head against her chest to feel her heart beat against his cheek. He pushed his fingers inside her – two, three, four – feeling her pulse and clench all around him, and it still wasn't close enough. The taste of her in his mouth, her thighs on his shoulders, her scent sinking into him with every breath he took, but he was still too far away. Even when they were finally making love, Nadia on top of him, breasts pressed against his chest, groaning softly in tempo with their movements, Jack still wanted to be closer to her somehow. It was impossible without taking her inside himself, deep inside his skin.

Afterward, she lay curled alongside him, her dark hair falling across his shoulder, heavy silk. Nadia whispered, "I feel as though we've switched places."

"What do you mean?" His fingers traced along the scar on her neck, as though touch could heal the wound.

"When we were together, before, I was the one who could always go to Sydney for comfort. You were the one on the outside."

"You're not on the outside."

"In Sydney's house I am. I'm surrounded by laughter and life, but I feel so alone. Not because of her or Vaughn – because of me."

"Because of what was done to you. It's not the same thing." He touched her cheek. "Remember that."

She kissed him for a long time afterward -- finally, it seemed, close enough to touch.

**

 

_Then_

 

Nadia jerked upright. She realized that she'd fallen asleep on a stakeout only half a second before she realized that she'd just shouted something out loud.

"Hey." Eric Weiss put one hand on her forearm. He sat in the driver's seat of the surveillance van, mic at his ear. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Sounded like you were having a nightmare."

"I was." Nadia gave him a crooked smile as she pushed herself upright in the passenger seat. "Sorry."

"Looked pretty bad." Eric's concern radiated from him, like his friendliness, his humor and his crush on her. Nadia liked him; had she been a different sort of person – a better person, one who looked for happiness instead of trouble – she suspected she might have adored him.

Instead, she was the kind of person who had bruises on her thighs left by Jack Bristow the night before. That was the kind of person Eric didn't need in his life.

"I'm okay, really," she said as smoothly as she could. "Any movement inside?"

"Not a wiggle, not a peep. Nada." Eric hesitated. "Is the Spanish-as-slang thing cute or offensive?"

"Cute."

He blushed a little, happily embarrassed. Oh, it was going to take all of her strength not to lead him on; he liked her so much, so openly, that any kindness came across as encouragement.

_Why shouldn't I try to date someone normal? _ Nadia thought. _I'm not the same fuck-up I used to be. What's happening with Jack is – an aberration. Temporary. _

Why shouldn't I?

Nadia took a deep breath. "I dreamed about being kidnapped."

"What?" Eric was clearly surprised by the shift in topic, but willing to listen. "Jesus. That must have been scary."

"Yeah. It was."

"Were you thinking about, like, this mission? Rodriguez and that crew? Because there's no way they'd ever get near you."

His protectiveness made her smile. "No, not them." The next was difficult to say; Nadia had told very few people this, at any point in her life. But she felt she could trust Eric, regardless of what else might or might not happen between them. "When I was a small child, I was kidnapped from the orphanage – more than once, actually. Rambaldi's followers, using me to get at his prophecies."

"That's horrible." Eric's face was ashen. Nadia hadn't known that he could look so serious. "How did you get out?"

"I don't remember. A lot of the details are blurry. I think they abandoned me after they were done with me, and the authorities brought me back to the orphanage." It must have been something like that, anyway, because Nadia remembered always returning to Sophia's waiting arms in the end. "But it was terrifying. Even now that I'm an adult and able to take care of myself –" she gestured at the holster that kept her Glock at the ready. "—it stays with me. The dreams never stop. I've accepted that they never will."

"Hey." Leaning slightly closer to her, Eric said, "You've gotta know, if any of those Rambaldi goons came after you here and now, we'd be all over them. Syd, Vaughn, your dad and me, too. There's no way we'd ever let them come near you."

She smiled at him. The reassurance was hollow, because she knew by now that if Rambaldi's followers wanted to find her, they would. However, she appreciated the thought, and it was kind of Eric to include her father in the group. It was nice that someone would give him a little credit. "I appreciate that. Really."

Eric flushed slightly, then became very interested in their surveillance again. Bashfulness was a quality Nadia had always found endearing. The natural next step was for her to perhaps suggest to Sydney that all four of them go for dinner or drinks soon.

Instead, the next morning, she got to work early so that she could take coffee to Jack's office.

This was the signal they'd worked out in Zimbabwe. If Jack wanted her to come to his apartment that night, or if she wanted to visit, one of them would bring a cup of coffee to the other's desk first thing in the morning. Nobody witnessing this would be likely to think much of such a simple courtesy, especially if masked by mission-related conversation. The theory was entirely sound.

However, they hadn't tested it yet. Thus far, her assignations with Jack had taken place only on missions: in hotel rooms, stairwells, alleyways, the back seats of cars. Although the spontaneity exhilarated her – suspense, Nadia believed, was the ultimate aphrodisiac – eventually one of them would have to ask. To lay themselves bare by saying, _Yes, I want this. _

Nadia wore a tight red sheath dress that was work-appropriate only through the addition of a black cardigan. The heels teetered too high for the office, but Nadia could manage, and she'd figured out by now that Jack had something of a fetish where sexy shoes were concerned. She chose two mugs, poured and added ample sugar; when she watched Jack fix his own coffee, his sweet tooth always amused her. Then she walked out into the office –

\-- to find Jack standing near her desk, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Jack's mouth didn't move, but she could sense his amusement. He said only, "You're here early."

"I was going to take some coffee to my father. Just like you're taking a cup to Sydney, I'm sure."

"Glad we're on the same page."

They walked past each other and didn't speak the rest of the day. The thrill of anticipation illuminated Nadia from within, a candle flickering heat. Through the various meetings and briefings and paperwork she went through that day (Dixon talking about the political situation in Syria, expense reports for her trip to Madrid), Nadia could only half-concentrate. Jack's nearness tugged at her, a magnetic pull that she could sense every second whether she wanted it or not. By the afternoon, she'd had to come up with an excuse to spend some time at the firing range, just to burn some of the energy out of her system; if she hadn't, Nadia felt as though she might have spontaneously combusted in the middle of APO.

She and Jack had plotted every detail that night in Zimbabwe. The instructions directed her to drive to Jack's between 8 and 9 p.m. An obliging parking lot lay near a shopping center just down the road; Nadia had prepared a cover story that involved the wine shop within. She bought a bottle of pinot noir to support the story, tucked that in the trunk, then walked toward Jack's apartment building. Her thin cotton dress whipped against her legs in the searing Santa Ana winds, fluttering in tempo with the beating of Nadia's heart. As she rode up the elevator, her exhilaration peaked –

\-- then snapped the moment Jack opened his door.

Walking inside his apartment changed everything, not just for her but for him too. She could see it in the way he stepped awkwardly around her, the change in his posture as he watched her look around. The apartment was not as austere as she'd imagined it; Nadia had envisioned something almost Japanese in its starkness, black on white on grey, perhaps with a low bed in the center of an otherwise bare room – a fantasy boudoir for a fantasy lover. This was Jack's reality: black leather couches of the kind that cost of a lot of money when they'd been in style 10 years before. Books with cracked spines testifying that they'd been repeatedly read and a thin layer of dust suggesting this last read had been a long time ago. A photo of Sydney, painfully young and gawky. An unloved piano, lid shut over its keys. And a tortoiseshell cat.

"Who is this?" Nadia hadn't expected to say that first; she hadn't expected to say anything, really. Jack should have backed her against the wall before she had a chance to speak, but instead he stood there uneasily. The cat, immune to such social delicacies, wound herself around Nadia's ankles, soft as mink.

"Maxine." The cat's ears flicked at the sound of her name; gold eyes blinked up at Jack. "She's a stray – was a stray. I started feeding her a couple of years ago. She stays here now, mostly."

"Oh." Nadia had never felt so dumbstruck in her life. They might as well have been 12-year-olds at their first dance, tongue-tied and awkward. "Why Maxine?"

Jack shrugged. "It suits her."

It did, actually. Maxine began bathing her paws, the only one of them content with how things were going. Nadia tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and tried to figure out why everything had curdled so instantly.

_You're in his space_, she realized. _ You're seeing something about him he doesn't show to everyone. Jack feels exposed – vulnerable. Figure out how to give him some control. _

"I wanted to ask you something," Nadia said.

"Certainly." He looked dangerously close to offering her a glass of water. No, it was time to make this right again.

Nadia cocked her head and gave him her most innocent smile. "Tie me up?"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I don't like pain." Nadia stepped out of one heel, then the other. His rug was soft beneath her aching feet. "But I like being tied up. Blindfolded."

"Ah." He stepped closer to her, and his face was the one she recognized again. She'd given him back his power, and he intended to use it; the thought sent delicious shivers up and down her spine. Once in a while she wondered why bondage got her so hot, given that some of her worst memories involved being tied down; probably it was very, very psychologically twisted of her. Most of the time, Nadia didn't care, as long as there was somebody there to knot the ropes. "You like – mystery."

"Surprise me." To most men, that would be meaningless flirtation. To Jack it was a challenge, one Nadia knew he would rise to. She couldn't wait.

"I don't have much in the way of supplies –"

"A bathrobe sash? A belt, maybe?"

As he stepped behind her, his hands went to the zipper of her dress and slowly began pulling it down, a long purr that opened a vee of cool air against her bare back. "I have handcuffs."

Nadia rolled her shoulders so that the dress slipped down her body to the floor with a sound like a sigh. "Perfect."

It turned out that – under the right circumstances, with something black folded over her eyes so that light and sight and shame were banished – sometimes, Nadia did like just a little pain after all.

Jack pushed her through every position, every movement, every response, guiding and driving and yet listening, too. Nadia had never felt more shaken or more safe; she didn't understand how those two emotions could combine, but they could and they did.

Afterward, when he removed the blindfold from her eyes, she was still shaky from the adrenalin rush. Nadia blinked, as if caught in the sun's glare. "Water?"

"Be right back," Jack promised, dropping a kiss on one shoulder. She watched him go, bare back and ass disappearing in the darkness that shrouded the rest of the apartment. Maxine sat upon the nearest windowsill, eyes wide; somehow it seemed appropriate to Nadia that Jack's cat should be a voyeur. Exhaustion overtook her, as sweet and somnolent as wine. By the time Jack had returned, now wrapped in a bathrobe and holding a highball glass full of icewater, Nadia's eyelids were impossibly heavy, and it took all her will to sit up and accept the glass.

"I'll be okay," she promised. A gulp of cold water didn't have the rejuvenating effect she'd expected. "Just give me a second."

Jack studied her, impassive. His curly hair was mussed from their lovemaking; other than that and his robe, he might as easily have been examining mission plans at APO. "Sleep."

"I can't stay over. It's too risky."

"Driving in this condition would be worse. Nap for half an hour. You can spare that."

Gratefully, Nadia flopped back onto the pillow and fell asleep almost as soon as she'd shut her eyes.

_"Please – Dad, please –" _

Her father stood before her, tears in his eyes and a syringe in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"If you were sorry, you wouldn't do it! It hurts me, don't you know that it hurts me?"

His smile was more terrible than his tears. "Do you know that you've never looked more beautiful?"

Nadia pulled against the straps, but they were too tight, cutting into her skin, and now the hands coming toward her did not belong to her father any longer. They were coming to take her away again –

"Nadia!"

She gasped, surfacing from her dream with a jolt. Jack sat in a chair beside the bed, with his bathrobe tied neatly around him; apparently he'd been watching her sleep. Now he leaned forward to touch her arm, but she flinched.

"Nadia, you were having a nightmare."

"I know. I know. I'm okay. I just – " She ran out of breath. As she pushed herself upright so that she sat opposite from Jack, her body trembled violently, believing in the danger long after her mind knew better.

"Hold on." Jack offered her the water glass she'd sipped from before, then, thinking better of it, kept it in his hand and let her shaking fingers simply guide the rim to her lips.

After she'd taken a few swallows, she felt better. Nadia leaned back and let Jack take the glass away. "I have nightmares. Pretty regularly, actually. I guess I should warn you."

"I'm warned." He considered her in silence, making no further move to comfort her. Nadia nonetheless found his presence reassuring. If there was anyone in the world she would choose to stand guard, it might well be Jack.

She realized that he was waiting to see if she would tell him about the nightmare or not. He wouldn't ask. This was enough to prompt her to speak. "You know that Rambaldi's followers kidnapped me as a child. Repeatedly."

"Yes, I know." He would have read that much in mission reports. "That's what you dream about?"

"That they're coming to take me away. To hurt me." Nadia considered mentioning that her father now appeared in the nightmares too, but decided against it.

This was Jack's cue to offer to protect her, to insist that nobody would ever get to her again. Instead he said, intently, "You're awake now. The dream's over. The rest doesn't matter."

To Jack, she realized, illusion was the true enemy. All anyone could ask was to be aware of the danger, so that they could face it. She'd believed that she didn't understand Jack Bristow at all, but in that moment she knew that she had seen something true.

Nadia shuddered, as though from the force of a collision.

**

 

_Now_

 

"Sydney requires backup," Jack insisted to the closed bathroom door. Inside, Nadia was showering mid-argument. "Infiltrating a public place is always more dangerous. Go with her to Australia as we planned."

"And you honestly think it's safe for you to go to DC on your own?" she called over the running water. "We're getting hard images of the members of Prophet Five. The men in Washington are the ringleaders. You've got the most dangerous assignment of all."

"I can handle it." The way Nadia talked sometimes, Jack thought she imagined that he'd made it through 35 years of active field work on sheer luck. "Sydney's task has more variables, which means more opportunities to get things wrong. I'd feel better if she had someone behind her."

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of water flowing. Jack poured ample food into Maxine's bowl; she was out prowling around, which was just as well. The cat always realized when he was leaving for a while and responded by sitting in his luggage.

At last he heard the squeak of the faucets turning, and the water stilled. So quietly that Jack could barely hear through the door, Nadia said, "If you're ready for me to go into the field, then you're ready for Dad to know I'm alive."

Jack understood her reluctance now, as well as her attempts to persuade him to take her along to Washington instead. Sloane was less likely to have sources in the United States. He went to the bathroom door, knocked once, then pushed it open. Nadia stood on the bathmat with a blue towel wrapped around her body and her wet hair slick against her scalp and shoulders. "I don't think he's going to see you."

"But if you weren't willing to take the chance, you wouldn't send me."

"He attempted to kill Anna Espinosa in the belief that Anna had hurt Sydney. Given Prophet Five's cavalier attitudes toward my daughter's safety, it's likely that Sloane is no longer taking their orders." Jack watched Nadia's face carefully, but saw no signs of either hope or fear. "They have the Horizon. They have the Rose. This is coming to a head. If we're ever going to have a chance to deal with your father on any rational basis again, it has to be soon."

"Sometimes I'm scared he'll ask me to forgive him. Sometimes I'm scared he won't."

"You should never have been put in this position. But this is where we are."

"Okay." She nodded, but her stare was hard. "You could've discussed this with me openly."

"I didn't think that was necessary."

"Still lying to me when it suits your purposes?"

Jack had no particular affection for difficult truth, but he could answer this honestly. "I thought you would understand without the explanation."

Nadia sighed. "I'll go to Sydney." Her mouth quirked in an unwilling smile. "With Sydney."

He kissed her. She put one damp hand on his cheek as their lips met, then instantly became brisk. "There's still hot water for you, if you hurry."

"Departure's in an hour. Hurrying is a given."

Jack discovered that his shower stall now held certain foreign items – "raspberry body scrub," "coconut pineapple wash" and something called "miracle end repair." As ordinary soap had apparently been banished, he used the coconut stuff and hoped like hell that his aftershave would mask the scent.

He could've gotten ready Sloane's house, where he was officially still staying. But he had wanted to spend a few hours with Nadia, to make love to her again before they all parted ways. Jack did not analyze why; sometimes yielding to temptation allowed the luxury of not analyzing that temptation too closely.

As he scraped his razor across the last triangle of shaving foam upon his cheek, Jack heard the doorbell ring.

He went completely still. Nadia's footsteps crossed the distance to the entrance, and Jack heard her say, "Sydney?"

"Nadia, hey." His daughter sounded rushed, but genuinely concerned. "Listen, I wanted to drop by and make sure that you were okay with going out like this. I know it's your first time in the field since – God, since Sevogda. I'm sorry if I'm being blunt, but if you want out of this – what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why aren't you letting me walk in?"

"I'd invite you in if we had time, but you know we don't."

"We have five minutes." A pause. "Nadia – are you hiding something?"

Jack breathed out heavily and grabbed his bathrobe from its hook.

"I'm not hiding anything, Sydney." Even through the bathroom door, Jack could hear how unconvincing Nadia sounded. "I'm just in a rush. We all are. I'll be fine, okay?"

"You're not letting me in." Sydney's voice was iron now. "Somebody's in here."

"What? No! Unless you count Maxine –"

"Is it Sloane? Just tell me, Nadia. Even if you're talking to him, even if you're working together, just tell me."

"My father nearly killed me! Sydney, have you gone mad?"

"I need to know!"

Jack walked out of the bathroom into the living room, where they both stood – Nadia in a peach dressing gown, Sydney in a white T-shirt and jeans. "I'm the one Nadia is hiding."

Sydney gaped at him. He could see each realization in her eyes, almost as though they were blows from which she was flinching. Her father was here. Her father was in his bathrobe. Nadia was in her bathrobe. Her father and Nadia –

Their secret was out.

"Oh, my God." Sydney's cheeks flushed brilliant red. "I – Dad – I'm going." She fled, slamming the door behind her. Nadia stared at him, apparently incapable of speech.

"Wait here." Jack ran into the hallway toward the elevator. He'd maintained a stiff decorum with his neighbors for the three years he'd lived here; if any of them walked out and saw him dealing with a weeping young woman while he wore no more than a bathrobe, they'd be shocked. That was the least of his problems, but he thought of it nonetheless. Sydney was hammering at the elevator's down button as though that would make the car arrive faster. "Sydney!"

"Dad, I do not want to hear it." She didn't turn to face him, just stared at the floor.

"We're going to talk about this, and we're going to talk about it immediately."

"You've done a really good job of not talking to me – for my whole life, actually. Don't mess it up now."

He lowered his voice, conscious even now that they might be overheard. "You and Nadia are about to go into the field. If you're distracted and upset, that puts you both at risk, and that is unacceptable." Jack took a deep breath. "Sydney, please."

She hugged herself tightly, face still turned away. The elevator dinged, but she didn't reach for the brass gate; instead they both stood there, motionless, until the elevator sank again.

Once it was gone, Sydney stalked back toward his apartment. Jack followed her. They walked in to find Nadia sitting on the couch, head in her hands. She gasped to see that they'd both returned, but said nothing.

Sydney paced the length of the room, arms still wrapped tightly around herself. Jack carefully took a seat beside Nadia; the gesture would prod Sydney to speak.

"Are you going to tell me this isn't what it looks like?" Sydney finally demanded.

"No," Nadia admitted. "It's exactly what it looks like."

"There's one thing I have to know before anything else," Sydney said. She stopped pacing and faced them squarely. "Was this just – some weird one-time thing that none of us ever has to think about again?"

Jack said, "No."

Sydney went back to pacing. Nadia turned to Jack, clearly surprised. At first he thought she was amazed that he'd told the truth. Then he realized that Sydney's question had not only referred to the past, but also to the future. Without intending to do so, he had declared his intention to remain with Nadia, even in the face of Sydney's disapproval.

He wasn't at all certain that was what he intended. The few times he'd allowed himself to fully visualize the scene they were now playing out, Jack had always assumed that it would be the absolute end for him and Nadia. Looking at her now – eyes wide, obviously taken aback but not speaking to contradict him – Jack wasn't sure of anything any longer.

Nadia had become important to him; that much he'd already accepted. But that was more reason to push her away, not less.

At that moment Sydney walked toward them, eyes blazing. "My sister is really vulnerable right now." It was Jack that she looked at, Jack alone who owned the anger in his daughter's heart. "You know what she's been through, everything that's happened to her."

"Jack hasn't taken advantage of me," Nadia insisted. "I chose this as much as Jack did, Sydney. You have to understand that. When – when this all started –"

"Don't." Sydney held up one hand. "I really, really do not need a picture drawn for me. Okay?"

Nadia bowed her head. "Okay."

Sydney put her hands on the windowsill and studied the alleyway behind Jack's apartment. He could read her body language as though it were one of the many difficult foreign tongues he had mastered during his career; Sydney was convincing herself of something she wanted to believe. She said only, "I understand."

"You do?" Nadia's eyes were wide.

"Yeah. I get it." Sydney turned back to them; her cheeks were still flushed, but she was composed. It was worse than her anguish. Now Nadia was the only one she spoke to. "The only thing more terrible than what Mom did to me and Dad is what Sloane did to you. You want revenge. You deserve revenge." Her gaze flicked over to Jack for only a second. "You both do."

There was a time when Jack would've guessed that his main motivation for the affair with Nadia was vengeance, but that time had ended long ago.

Oblivious to his uncertainty, Sydney continued, "I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to – see any evidence of it. And I'm not going to deal with the fallout when it's over. But it's your business, not mine. Okay?"

"Okay," Nadia said slowly. "Sydney –"

"What?" Sydney's eyes were red, and Jack realized how desperate she was to escape.

Nadia's answer was simple and true. "We both love you so much."

Sydney shook her head. "I just – I have to go now."

"All right, sweetheart." Jack remembered how easily she had hugged him a few nights before and wondered how long it would take for those days to return, if they ever did. "We'll see you at the airstrip."

Instead of answering, Sydney simply went out the door, slamming it behind her. This time, Jack let her leave.

"Oh, my God," Nadia breathed. She and Jack stared at each other for a few long seconds, unable to muster any other response. Then, hesitantly, she offered, "That actually went better than I ever dreamed it could."

"Yeah."

"Which means it was still horrible." Nadia buried her face in her hands.

"Yeah," Jack repeated, more sincerely this time. He put his arms around Nadia, offering what comfort he could. She sighed as she laid her head against his chest.

Jack knew he'd been weak. If he hadn't been, the affair with Nadia could never even have begun, much less reached this point. He'd told himself that nobody was hurt through his behavior, but now Sydney had been, and Nadia would be. That cost was too high.

Nadia believed that she needed him, but Jack knew that she needed her sister more. A young, vibrant woman like Nadia could have only a finite use for a damaged lover 30 years her senior, regardless of how many Freudian kinks their lovemaking satisfied.

For Nadia's own good, Jack had to end this, soon.

Not yet. After they'd beaten Prophet Five, after they had resolved matters with Sloane through his capture or death –

Soon.

"We should go." Nadia's words were muffled against the lapel of his bathrobe. "I wish we were going together."

"You and Sydney need the time, now." When they looked each other in the face again, Jack managed to smile. "I'll see you when you get back to Los Angeles."

 

**

_Then_

 

"I'm glad you're doing so well here," her father said, pacing around his broad desk to stand by Nadia's side. "Nobody can doubt your ability, or your commitment to our team."

She smiled, both warmed and humbled by his praise. As much as Nadia needed to hear her father's approval, she could never rid herself of the fear of what he would say if he only knew about her and Jack. What would he think of her then?

Sometimes she suspected her father would be angriest with her for hurting Sydney. It was a strange thing to think, but Nadia believed it all the same.

"I like Los Angeles. APO. All of it." Nadia took a deep breath. "Most of all, I like that we're becoming closer. That matters more than anything else, Dad."

He laid one hand on her shoulder. "To me, too." His eyes seemed to search hers, as though he could see right through her. "I know that I've given you reasons to doubt my commitment. My greatest hope is that someday your doubts will be completely laid to rest."

Arvin Sloane only raised difficult subjects when he had a reason. Given that she'd spent a good part of the day trying to decipher prophecies about "the Sunset" while her father was banned from the main work area, Nadia knew what that reason was. "You're talking about Rambaldi."

"Giving up my Rambaldi studies was a sacrifice. I don't expect you to understand that, given what his followers have done to you – myself included. I can only tell you that his work mattered deeply to me. You matter more."

Nadia hugged him. She did not know if she believed him, but she wanted to.

That night, she considered not going to Jack's. She'd brought him coffee that morning, which he'd accepted with a small smile – which, from Jack, was a sign of genuine enthusiasm. Nadia knew she could expect a wild night if she made the trip, and the mental images that flickered in her mind at the thought made her weak in the knees, tight between her legs.

Still, she could call, say something had come up. Jack wouldn't argue. Later they could discuss it calmly and end it, the way they'd always known they would. Jack would even understand that she needed to do this for her father, if she were to explain. For all the animosity she sometimes sensed between her father and Jack Bristow, she also saw them working together despite everything. That said a lot about the friendship they'd once shared and, perhaps, on some level they rarely acknowledged, still had to this day. Sydney might not see any good in Arvin Sloane, but Nadia knew that Jack must.

And yet that knowledge made her feel closer to Jack.

At last she put on a slinky black dress, made up her face and drove to Jack's. Nadia might give him up soon, but not tonight.

When she knocked on the door, Jack didn't answer at first. Always, before, he'd instantly ushered her inside, the better to hide her from neighbors or anyone else who might be watching. Tonight, she had to knock three times before he finally let her in.

"Jack?" Nadia pushed the door shut behind her. Jack was already walking away from her, toward the unused piano in the corner. Only one lamp burned in the entire apartment. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

She realized that a nearly empty bottle of cognac sat on the table beneath the lamp; if that was the same bottle she'd seen a week ago, it had been more than halfway full then. When Jack stumbled against the piano, she realized that he'd probably had the rest tonight – which meant that he was extremely drunk. "I don't think you're fine."

"You don't get a vote." He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrow. Nadia had always understood why some people might be frightened of Jack, but she'd never felt that fear herself. She thought that he wanted her to feel it now.

Nadia did not intimidate easily. She slipped off the denim jacket she'd worn over her dress, so that Jack could see how it outlined her body, how much cleavage and leg it displayed. Her dark red heels clicked against the wooden floor as she walked deliberately toward him. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

"We're almost out. But help yourself."

She took the half-empty bottle in her hands and drank straight from it. It was expensive cognac, oily-hot against her tongue, numbing her lips. Jack watched her the whole time, his stare ill-focused.

"You're like her, you know."

Nadia set the bottle down. Surely he wasn't drunk enough to talk about this. "I don't know what you mean."

"Like your mother." He nodded, that small, too-contained smile on his lips. "You both respond to a dare with a double-dare. Neither of you ever knew when to leave well enough alone."

"I don't want to talk about my mother." That wasn't entirely true; if he had offered to talk, really talk, while he was sober, Nadia would have been grateful. But he was drunk and she wanted him and this was no time for discussing Irina Derevko. "Don't we have better things to do?"

"She always knew how to employ the art of distraction." He took one step toward her and cocked his head. For Jack, even a simple gesture like that betrayed that his lack of control. "She could always manipulate me so that I stopped asking questions and started doing what she wanted. That's what you're trying to do, isn't it?"

This was going to get ugly. She liked the idea.

"Yeah, Jack. But I only want you to fuck me." Nadia put her hands on her hips, squared her shoulders. "Of course, you've had a lot to drink. Can't you manage it?"

"Your mother chose her insults better." His hand closed around her right wrist, tight enough to hurt. He had big hands, unattractive, twisted from old breaks that hadn't healed right. "You want to taunt me? Make me really angry? You'll have to do better than telling me I can't get it up."

"What am I gonna have to do?" Nadia flattened her left hand against his trousers so that she could feel his already-hardened cock -- splayed her fingers out, then curled them back, like a cat testing her claws. The half-caress should've excited him, but she saw no change in his expression, no hint of humor or release in his dark stare. "Tell me."

"She was always good at it." With his right hand, Jack carefully unclipped the golden barrette that had been holding back one lock of her hair. His gentleness clashed with the iron grip around her wrist, and it was that contrast more than anything else that unnerved her. "Laura. Irina. Whoever. She always knew I didn't believe in angels. If I was going to believe in her goodness, sometimes she'd have to make sure I treated her like hell. That way she could forgive me. If she forgave me, I'd never ask if I had to forgive her."

"You're not making any sense."

"Scratches on her back. I know fingernail marks when I see them. I told her she had a lover – that – that I knew I was gone a lot, if she would talk to me –" Whatever softness had nearly broken through him then vanished in an instant. "She denied it because she knew it would make me furious. I broke the lamp, the window. Sydney woke up crying."

Nadia kept her voice low. "Did you hit my mother?"

"No, but I wanted to." Jack let go of her suddenly and walked away, staring at the floor near the piano. "When I'd calmed down, she told me a playmate of Sydney's threw a tantrum. Scratched her back. I believed it. I believed that, like a fool. I begged her forgiveness. On my knees."

As much as Nadia felt for Jack's pain, she couldn't help admiring her mother's inventiveness and steely will. It was a bit like coveting the model of the gun somebody was holding to your head.

Jack laughed once. "That was 1980. Do you think your father was the one who left those marks?"

"Show me the marks, Jack."

He gave her a flat, uncomprehending stare.

Nadia reached behind her back and began to unzip her dress. "Show me how they felt."

"They weren't on my back."

"But you know how they felt. You know because you've imagined it. Your wife with my father – or with someone else, maybe. Who knows? Could've been anybody." One slim black strap of her dress slipped off her shoulder. "You've imagined what she was after, screwing all those other guys. You've imagined how it felt for her to get clawed in bed. Haven't you?"

Jack's smile was terrible. "Now that's how you make someone really angry."

He shoved her into the wall; Nadia stumbled and only managed not to fall by sinking willingly to her knees. Jack pushed her back again, so that her half-bare back thudded against the cool wood flooring. Then his forearm was against her throat, holding her down, while his other hand tugged roughly at her panties, a ragged nail scraping as his thumb half-pushed into her, his palm searing against her thigh.

If Nadia had wanted to fight him, she knew five different ways to throw Jack off and get the upper hand. She didn't want to fight him.

Jack shoved into her roughly, going too fast, causing as much pain as pleasure – at least, at first. Nadia cried out so that he would muffle the sound with his mouth, bucked against him so that he'd sink in even deeper. She moved not with him, but against him, making him work for it.

The fight could only last for so long. It felt too good for her or for Jack to pretend that it was anything but mutual, at least not after the first few seconds. Nadia let him relax into it, slowly reducing her resistance until they were finally in synch, Jack's forehead pressed into the curve of her neck, each of them groaning softly. But when Jack was totally lost in her – Nadia knew the moment, felt it like a warm curl of sensation that rippled through her like a wave – she slid her arms up his shirt, against his hot sweaty back, then raked her nails down hard enough to cut.

Jack stiffened, physical and emotional pain coupling with shock; Nadia felt both the pure thrill of power and the horror that it could please her so much to hurt him. "Is that how it was, Jack? Is that how you think it felt?"

"Bitch." He slammed her against the floor, an attacker again instead of a lover, and Nadia came so hard that she barely noticed when or if Jack reached his own end.

When they rolled apart, Nadia shakily crawled toward her discarded underwear. A highball glass lay on the floor, and she carefully set it upon a nearby table – one absurd act of order amid total disorder. She saw crescents of blood beneath her fingernails, felt a painful welt beginning to swell on her forearm, and wondered which one of them had hurt the other more. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Jack sat on the floor, forearms on his knees, staring at the wall.

"The picture on page 47," she said. "You were looking down at it all day, and you were wondering if it was Sydney or me or – or Mom."

"Yes." Jack wouldn't look at her. She didn't watch what he did as she pulled herself together and left.

The next morning, Nadia took a long shower, carefully examining the new, red-violet bruises Jack had left on her body. They ought to have scared her; they represented not only what Jack was capable of, but also too much of what she really wanted. Instead, she pressed down on them with her forefingers – against her collarbone, her thigh, her ass. Water flowed around her fingertips, rinsing Jack's blood away.

Nadia then put on yoga pants and a gray tank she usually reserved for the gym and drove back to Jack's apartment. For once, she didn't bother parking on the next block; in the unlikely event that anyone asked, Nadia felt capable of coming up with an explanation that would cover a daytime visit.

This time, it took even longer for Jack to open the door. He looked like shit: pale, haggard, eyes bloodshot and wary. "What?"

"I'm checking up on you." She slid sideways through the narrow crack in the door. "You were in bad shape last night. The hangover you've got has to be brutal."

"I am not –" Jack winced and put one hand to his temple. "I'm fine."

"I brought V8." With one hand she hefted up the six-pack of vegetable juice. "Have you already had scrambled eggs?"

"Yes."

"Have more. And drink a can of this with one shot of vodka."

Jack did as she asked; he was contrary enough to be difficult for its own sake, but not enough to refuse patently good advice. He was still in his bathrobe, and he looked even older than he usually did. Nadia, normally titillated by their age difference, found herself taken aback by the picture before her. Jack looked more like an old man than she'd ever expected him to be. He even moved slowly as he lifted the V8 can to his lips.

Then again, sometimes it was good to have proof that even Jack Bristow was only human.

Nadia saw his clothes lying on the floor where he'd discarded them last night and began picking them up, mostly to have something to do. Her golden barrette gleamed upon the floorboards, and she tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.

"I'm surprised you're here," Jack rasped.

"If anybody asked, I could explain this."

"That's not what I meant." He wouldn't look directly at her. "After last night, I'd thought you would be –"

"What?"

"I was rougher than I should've been. I'm sorry."

"You weren't any rougher than I wanted you to be." Nadia smiled at him in the careless way she knew he sometimes found infuriating. "If I ever wanted to stop you, I could, and I would. So don't beat yourself up."

Jack stared down at the V8 can between his hands. "You ought to stop me."

"I was just as hard on you." In the light of day, she could hardly believe that she'd taunted him like that about her mother's infidelity, much less that it had felt so good.

"That's not exactly what I meant, which I suspect you realize."

What he meant was that they ought to quit seeing each other. On a rational level, Nadia agreed, but reason wasn't as powerful as – perversity or lust or whatever it was that kept bringing her back here, time after time.

She said only, "We're lucky."

"This I have to hear."

"We're both so –" Was there a less vulgar way to put it? No. "— we're so fucked-up, Jack. It's lucky we're fucked-up in the same way. " More quietly, she admitted, "I don't show this to many people. To anyone else, really."

"There's more to you than this. You have other options." Jack met her eyes at last. They both knew that it was far too late for Jack to be anyone besides the hard, broken man he was. "You should explore different possibilities."

Stung, Nadia turned away from him to pay attention to Maxine, who dozed on the windowsill. "I'm having lunch with Weiss today." Sydney and Vaughn would also be there, but she omitted them. "It should be fun."

Jack did not protest. His voice was gentle as he said, "Weiss is a good man."

"Yeah, he is." Beneath Nadia's palm, Maxine stirred sleepily. She ought to leave before she got caught up in playing with her. "I'll see you soon."

"Will you?"

The lightness of his response didn't fool Nadia. "We're not done." She walked out of the apartment before Jack could say anything else.

**

 

_Now_

 

The faces of The Twelve stared up from the conference room table, at all different angles, wearing completely different expressions – some laughing over dinner, others talking business upon the steps of the Capitol, one ignominiously caught picking his nose near an elevator. Nadia grimaced and pushed that photo slightly beneath one of the others.

What disturbed her most was that they were all such ordinary faces. After a few years in espionage, Nadia knew better than to believe that every underworld power dealer wore black leather and twirled a mustache. But it was difficult to think of everything they had endured during the past few months and say that it was all the ordinary work of middle-aged executives who had otherwise banal lives.

"I suppose it could have gone better," Jack said. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the doorjamb, arms folded in front of him.

"Really?" Nadia was surprised. "We got pictures of all of them. We've already IDed the majority. Seems pretty successful to me."

"I meant your trip with Sydney."

Sydney had said hardly a word during the entire flight, even avoiding meeting Nadia's eyes. "Well, yes. Though it could've gone worse."

Jack nodded, evidently still troubled. He was too smart to take Sydney's silence as a good sign; they both knew her too well. "We should have something to tell her. When she gets back, when this is resolved."

"Yeah, I guess we should." Nadia knew it was merely the truth, but Jack's insensitivity in attempting to deal with it now annoyed and upset her. "Not right before the briefing."

"Of course. We'll –"

"I'm going to check my e-mail." Nadia went to the doorway and waited for Jack to step aside before she pushed through. "If I'm late, start the briefing without me."

Unprofessional of her, she supposed, but she didn't care. She'd already said goodbye to Jack Bristow several times, and meant it on each occasion, but all that rehearsal didn't seem to help at the moment. She needed a few seconds to regroup. A simple e-mail check seemed like just thing – until she saw the only new note, from an address she didn't recognize, with the subject line: To Jack.

With a trembling finger, Nadia clicked on the envelope.

_Jack, _

I realize that you're the one monitoring Nadia's e-mail accounts. No doubt you were also the one who kept the funeral notice out of the papers, and who arranged for a lookalike to make an appearance in Australia. Did you think I would be so easy to deceive? I know what I saw that day, Jack. I know that my worst fear has come to pass, that I've lost Nadia forever. You can't protect me from that terrible truth – nor can you use it against me.

In the next room, the APO team was analyzing her father's intel; Nadia could hear Rachel saying something about the subway system, which could hardly have anything to do with anything. She shouldn't leave them in there with their guesswork – not while she had a letter from her father open in front of her.

But Nadia couldn't call to them, couldn't move, couldn't think. All she could do was read the words her father believed he was speaking over her grave.

_I have more regrets than you'll ever know, though you are a man who understands regret. But the only aspect of our friendship I regret is that it has to end now, and like this. You angered me through this manipulation – a pitiful game unworthy of you. I'd thought that a father's love for a daughter was the last thing you held sacred, but perhaps at long last there is nothing left. By lying that Nadia still lives, you hurt me – but you didn't make this easy, Jack. Nothing could ever make it easy. _

Nadia thought, _Make what easy? _ Her body went cold.

_I had so little freedom to choose the course of our friendship, but I can at least choose the last thing I'll ever say to you, even though you won't believe. I love you, Jack, as a friend and as a brother. I wish it could all have turned out differently. You'll never know how much I wish I could have changed all our fates – mine, Sydney's, Nadia's and even yours._

But it couldn't have happened any other way.

"Jack?" Nadia whispered, shakily rising to her feet. "Jack, you have to –"

"Run!" Tom yelled, barreling out of the conference room, the others moving with him. "We're on bomb alert, NOW."

"Have them call in a terrorist threat to LA transit," Jack commanded, walking quickly but betraying no fear. "We have to get the subways evacuated. We don't know when Sloane means for this to happen –"

"Any minute. Any second." When they stared at Nadia, she continued, "He just sent me an e-mail – I mean, sent Jack an e-mail, he still thinks I'm dead – it was a goodbye letter."

Jack's face went ashen. "Everyone move."

The next few minutes were a blur of panic and activity. Nadia ran through the various staff areas of APO, ordering codebreakers and forgers and the medical crew to get the hell out as soon as possible. Once in a while, someone would leap out from the tumult, as vivid and still as a photograph: Rachel, blonde hair streaming behind her, cell phone pressed to her stricken face; Marshall, his arms piled high with laptop and papers and a toy car, propelling himself up the emergency stairs three at a time; Jack, standing on the sidewalk above, his tall form the only darkness she could perceive in the sudden, blinding sunlight.

All around her, masses of people were running in every direction – businesswomen in suits, teenage guys in blue jeans and hoodies, young families abandoning strollers to grab their babies in their arms and run as fast as possible from the subway. Her father would've killed them all – was trying, even now, to kill them all –

Then the earth turned upside down.

Nadia felt the impact before she heard it – sidewalk asphalt rising and rippling beneath her feet, hydrants ripping open and spraying water in high jets, cars and trucks skidding into each other. Then the roar bellowed up from below, with clouds of smoke and steam and soot, shreds of newspaper and countless old soda cans, all of them vomited up from the subway tunnel as it exploded.

She staggered sideways and grabbed a lamppost to keep herself from falling over. People were in a panic now, screaming and crying, as though the worst was still to come.

Jack had somehow stayed on his feet. As Nadia walked toward him, she saw him talking intently into his cell phone – then, in an instant, slump against a nearby car. "What?" she whispered. "It's not – Sydney's –"

"Sydney is fine." Jack's gaze had turned inward, lost in something that might have been memory or guilt. "But Tom didn't make it."

"Oh, my God." Nadia had only known Tom Grace for a few weeks, and she was ashamed by the fact that his death hurt her less than the identity of his killer.

_My father did this. That nice young man – the one who wisecracked about the terrible coffee this morning – he's bits and pieces now, not even a body to bury, and all because of my father. _

"You were the one he was trying to kill," Nadia said. She meant it as a condemnation of her father, not Jack, but he winced all the same.

"I used to think he would keep us alive if he could. Sloane's self-image always relied heavily upon a certain – sentimentality." Jack shook his head. "We're past all of that now."

Nadia stared up at Jack, horror finally cracking through the armor of shock. "We've reached Rambaldi's endgame. We're finally at the end."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Now

Above Mongolia

 

"We'll go in from the south," Sydney ordered. She focused only on the gun she was loading – _click, click, click_. "They'll see us coming no matter what we do, but we'll have cover longer that way."

Vaughn and Nadia each cast surreptitious glances at Jack – who, as APO leader, was technically the one who ought to be giving the orders. He simply nodded once. Sydney's strategy was sound, and Jack knew better than to countermand good instructions in an unnecessary effort to emphasize his authority.

Sydney holstered that gun, then grabbed another and began loading it as well. "I'm not leaving him alive. Not this time. Sloane's done too much and gone too far, and if I'd put a bullet in his brain back when he killed Danny –" She paused, and Jack wondered what alternate path she saw. "I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

Jack saw Nadia shiver. Was it possible that, even now, she wanted to defend Sloane? He wanted to believe otherwise – then realized, as Sydney continued her labors without ever once looking up at him, he should possibly be grateful that daughters could, eventually, forgive fathers for anything.

Then again, Sloane had always been better at finagling second chances than Jack had.

He didn't ask Sydney to understand what had brought him and Nadia together; Jack didn't understand this himself. He certainly didn't expect her to be enthusiastic, but seeing her so distant and distracted – particularly now, when she needed her strength more than ever – worried him deeply. She'd learned the truth at the worst possible time.

_It's all going to be over soon_, he told himself. It was not an internal pep talk, a kind of psychobabble he'd never had any use for. No, this was inevitability. Sloane's grab at Rambaldi's power, the secret of Nadia's survival, Sydney's shackling to the Rambaldi prophecies, the long standoff between the CIA and Rambaldi's followers – all of this was ending, here, now, today. Jack wasn't ready, but if Sydney was, his own troubles wouldn't matter.

Nadia took a deep breath, steadying herself. She had avoided coming anywhere near Jack during their entire long haul to Mongolia, sharing as she apparently did his desire not to remind Sydney of the connection between them. To his surprise, this troubled him; he could be desperately protective of Sydney and yet realize that she was not the only one who hurt and was afraid. Nadia, too, would face the challenge of her life. He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't. To do so would upset Sydney, and, in turn, make Nadia feel guiltier and even less focused than she already was.

Yes, he could give Nadia up for Sydney's good. Jack had always known this. But he hadn't made the break in time to spare either his daughter or his lover. Now, two people's welfare mattered more to Jack than his own, and the fact that he had come between them just before their greatest crisis endangered everyone.

Jack set to work loading his own gun and reminded himself that both Sydney and Nadia were strong enough to take care of themselves. He would have to be strong enough to believe in them.

**

Sloane's men saw them earlier than Jack would've hoped, but late enough to give them a chance.

Jack aimed, fired, aimed again. The mercenaries had been caught off guard, and they responded instinctively, scattering instead of organizing. That was all the analysis Jack allowed himself – once he'd realized their one slim advantage, there was nothing to do but press it home or die trying. He targeted man after man, took them down one after one.

On the fringes of his awareness, Jack knew when Sydney got into the cave. He saw Vaughn slip through the first line of defense and penetrate deeper within the compound. And he could see Nadia firing, moving fast for the cover behind a small hill – falling.

"Agent down!" Jack dodged behind a jeep, looking in vain for any backup; their team, already stretched thin, had no one closer to Nadia. He flung himself toward the hill and managed to roll behind it without getting hit. Nadia jerked her weapon toward him, then lowered it. A small pool of blood surrounded her left foot. Jack muttered, "You're hit."

"I don't think it's that bad." Her lips were pale, and she was shaking, but Nadia remained focused. "Might even just have nicked me. But the Achilles tendon – I can't keep going."

Jack peeled back the blood-soaked leg of her khakis and saw the damage for himself. The wound was minor, relatively speaking, but it would take weeks of physical therapy for Nadia to walk easily again. For the time being, she was out of commission. He would have been relieved to have her out of the fight, if the odds against them had not already been so dire. He said only, "Bind this up the best you can. Stay down. We'll come back for you."

Nadia nodded. Their eyes met for a moment; Jack could linger no more than that before flinging himself back into the fight.

He made it back to the cover of the jeep and got off two more rounds before he felt the gun jam. Swearing, Jack reloaded and cast one glance around the edge of the jeep – then froze.

Sark had a gun on Vaughn. No escape, no out.

Jack didn't hesitate even long enough to weigh the rest of the tactical situation; he knew that if he didn't move, that second, Isabelle's father would probably die. He stepped out and aimed his gun directly at Sark's head.

Vaughn turned, but he didn't look relieved. Sark turned -- and smiled. Which was why Jack wasn't surprised to hear the click of a guard's gun being cocked behind his head.

"Mr. Bristow, Mr. Vaughn." Sark didn't look half as satisfied with himself as Jack would've expected; there was a distinct sense that they were all in over their heads. Jack might've taken comfort from that if he hadn't just been captured.

This was the last confrontation – the last one that could ever possibly matter. And it looked like they'd just lost.

Jack thought of Nadia lying in the sand behind them, bleeding and all but helpless, perhaps about to be executed. He thought of Isabelle, half a world away, innocent of the fact that both her parents were in mortal danger. He thought of Irina, the Horizon in her hands, her ultimate loyalty at last to be revealed.

Then he thought of Sydney. She was still in the cave, probably facing Sloane down at this moment. His daughter knew the stakes they were up against, which meant that nothing would make her back down.

Sydney was their only hope.

 

**

_Then_

 

It had been an awkward, difficult week, for a number of reasons. Vaughn's uncle fell ill, which meant they had to scramble to cover Vaughn's unexpected absence. Of course, the Blackwell Index resurfaced at that very moment, so Jack and Sloane had to make their plans for its retrieval on the fly. Sydney was tense because Vaughn was leaving at a time when their relationship was still mending. For some reason, Dixon was glowering more than usual. And Weiss was – always there.

One night Jack, Nadia and Weiss all worked late. Weiss kept throwing glances at Jack as though Jack were the chaperon. Jack was chagrined to realize he felt much the same way about Weiss. Nadia kept her gaze focused on her work, her expression unreadable.

Then, the day after, Sloane abruptly announced that he would be holding a birthday dinner for Nadia at his home. Jack, who had memorized the putative birth date from her file, had brought her coffee that morning, which she had accepted with an inviting smile. The far more intimate celebration he'd planned would have to wait.

The party at Sloane's was excruciating – Weiss paired with Nadia, contented by her side; Sloane basking in a better relationship than Jack could claim with his own daughter; and Sydney weirdly distracted. Jack did his best to jolly the evening along, but in this area his best was frankly pitiful. At one point, he listened to himself spouting off some enormously depressing spiel about the impending oil crisis with something like horror. _What am I doing? _

Still, Jack didn't recognize that week as a turning point until the incident with the Blackwell Index.

He'd given himself up for dead the minute the damned code key didn't work. Jack didn't think Sloane had sabotaged him – whatever the hell had gone wrong sprang from some other source – but he was under no illusions about Sloane endangering himself to come to the rescue. He'd always considered execution a gruesome way to kill people; maybe it was only fair that he learn how gruesome a way it was to die.

Jack hoped that Sloane would at least tell Sydney that it had been to protect her. If she knew that much, he could die content.

With a roar and a bang, the warehouse wall split in two.

A red sportscar blasted into the warehouse like a missile, sending metal shavings spraying in every direction. Brakes whined and the engine growled and yet Jack could hear the gunshots – _blam, blam, blam!_ Though he strained against the duct tape binding him, Jack couldn't move. But he realized he didn't have to. It was his captors who were falling, taken out by the assailant. Nadia.

As the last one fell, Nadia stopped the car and jumped out. Jack could only stare at her as she came to his side and murmured to someone on comms – who? – that he was safe. "Jack, are you all right?"

"Yeah."

She knelt by his side and began tugging at the duct tape around his hands. "We thought we were too late. I thought you might be –"

"I'm fine." Jack swallowed some of the blood that had pooled in his mouth from his cut lip. "How did you get here?"

"I'm with Sydney. "

All was now explained. Sydney had caught Sloane in off-book activity and sabotaged him. Although this exercise had nearly cost Jack his life, he couldn't help feeling pride in his daughter's developing skill and ruthlessness.

Or in Nadia's courage and daring. The sight of her, blazing forward in that red sportscar – Jack had almost never seen anything like it.

"You're sure you're all right?" Her hands shook as she freed the last twisted tape from his stinging wrists and disconnected the video and audio links that tied him to Sloane. They were alone now. "You're sure?"

Jack tucked his thumb under her chin and lifted her face to his. "I'm fine. Thanks to you."

They kissed. It tasted like blood – his blood – and yet Nadia did not pull away. Her tongue pushed insistently into his mouth, stinging the hot cut along the inside of his lip; the pain only made him kiss her harder.

He might never have seen her again. He couldn't stand the idea of never seeing her again.

When their mouths parted, Jack tugged her into his lap; his ankles were still duct-taped to the chair. Nadia put her arms around him, lay her head upon his shoulder and breathed out, a long, shaky sigh. Jack had not realized that her nearness could be so comforting, and it had been a very long time since he had allowed himself to recognize how good comfort could feel after an incident like this.

He couldn't afford to let himself remember that.

Nadia, sensing the change in him, pulled back almost instantly. As she got to her feet, she blinked down at him, almost as though she were surprised to find herself in the warehouse at all. "Let's get you to Sydney. She was scared to death."

It was pleasant to realize that Sydney still cared enough to worry about his welfare. However, Jack was too distracted to think about that for very long.

They were entirely businesslike as they removed his final bonds, cleaned the scene and met up with the others. Sydney did not hug him, but she didn't pull away when Jack touched her shoulder; after the chill of the past several months, that was more than enough for Jack to go on. A look passed between the sisters that told Jack he should give them some time alone. Besides, he needed to collect himself and prepare for what had to come next.

When Nadia returned to the car, and they were once again alone, Nadia said, "She's grateful that I saved you."

"Nice to hear."

"I still don't understand why she's so angry at you most of the time."

Jack remembered a swimming pool, a cool rippling rectangle of blue, bruised in the center with blood and water-soaked purple silk and the remains of Irina Derevko. He remembered tears blurring his vision even while his palm still stung from the kick of the gun. "Sydney's been through a lot. I don't want to put her through any more."

"She thanked me for saving you. She thought that I did it for her, that I could only have done it for her. Letting her think that – it feels like a lie."

Their eyes met. Nadia's face was outlined by the sunset-orange sky. Jack wished he could have held her one last time, telling himself that he wanted that for her sake, not his own. "I'm glad that you love Sydney enough to put her first."

"At last."

"At last."

So instead of tearing one another apart, Jack and Nadia simply let each other go. The affair was over; it had ended the moment Jack had realized how much he needed her.

Nadia drove him to his apartment, but she simply pulled up to the front door and stepped on the brake, never even taking the car out of drive. Jack touched her shoulder briefly, and for just one moment, she smiled. Neither of them spoke. Before he'd even walked through the door of his building, Nadia had sped away for the last time.

Jack went upstairs and look a very long shower, leaning tiredly against the white-tiled wall with water streaming down, studying the red tape burn still looped around his hands.

**

_Now_

 

They have Jack and Vaughn. And Sydney's in there too! But Dad wouldn't hurt Jack or Sydney. He wouldn't. He said he would, but when it comes right down to it, he won't be able to.

Nadia frantically tore another strip from the ruins of her jacket and wound it around her foot, desperate to get up. No gunshots had sounded in the past few minutes, and she had heard nothing – not a word, not an engine, not a footstep. If only she could get into the cave! She could convince her father to stop if nobody else could. At that moment, Nadia felt she would forgive her father anything if only he would walk away from the Horizon, release Sydney and Vaughn, and return Jack to her.

Footsteps in gravel: Someone was walking out. Her heart sank when she saw that it was in Sark. He wasn't making a calculated search, though – no, he was running, moving as fast as he could. Nadia watched him leap into a truck parked on the far perimeter of this camp and gun the motor so that he spun off in a cloud of reddish-brown dust. Did that mean someone had turned the tables inside the cave? Or was Sark simply moving onto his next task after her father's executions?

_Dad won't hurt them. I know he won't. _

Then she remembered the explosions that had engulfed APO, and the fact that Thomas Grace lay dead beneath the streets of L.A. Nadia wasn't sure she knew her father anymore.

One more knot, and the bandage was as good as it was going to get. Nadia grabbed her gun and pushed herself upright. Every step on her left foot was painful, like a red-hot vise clamping around her ankle, but Nadia kept moving toward the mouth of the cave. She had lost enough blood to feel lightheaded, but her grip on her weapon was still secure. If she had to, she could still shoot.

But could she kill her father? Even to save her own sister, or Jack? Nadia didn't know and suspected she was about to find out.

As she reached the mouth, though, she heard Vaughn say, "We're almost out – almost there. Hang on."

And she heard Sydney crying.

"Oh, God." Sydney's words were broken, tear-choked. As they emerged into the light, the sight hit Nadia like lightning -- blinding, scorching and instantaneous: Jack, between Sydney and Vaughn, his chest torn open and scarlet with blood.

The next minute or so was pure confusion and horror. Nadia knew that she had started crying, that she had nonetheless helped them get Jack outside and lay him upon the ground, and that the bloodstain on Jack's shirt had already doubled in size. But it all seemed to be happening at once, no before, no after, just different scenes of horror shifting from one to the other as randomly as colors shifted in a kaleidoscope.

"Dad – oh, Dad –" Sydney sobbed as she tried to hold a rag to his wound.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jack coughed brokenly, giving the lie to his own words.

Vaughn touched Nadia's shoulder; she managed to turn to him long enough for him to say, quietly, "Sloane is dead. He shot Jack, so Sydney shot him."

She felt the words rather than heard them, and then she did not belong to the world, to time, to gravity, to anything else that made sense or was good. She was somewhere outside all of that, in a dusty country with no sun, where Jack lay in front of her dying from wounds her father inflicted, her father who was already dead.

Nadia's voice cracked as she asked, "The Horizon?"

"Sloane used it," Vaughn said. Sydney and Jack were talking now, saying the last words they would ever speak to each other. Nadia had never thought she would see tears in Jack's eyes, and she knew that he wept not for his own death but because he was telling his daughter goodbye. "Now Sark's taking it to the source in Hong Kong."

"Mom. You mean Mom."

"Probably, yeah." Vaughn looked down at Jack again, then carefully told Sydney, "If we're going to get to Hong Kong in time, we have to go. Now. We can't wait for the MedEvac team."

_Leave Jack alone to die? _ Nadia's stomach turned over, as though she would be physically sick at the thought of it. "I'll stay."

Sydney turned to her, suddenly aware again that Nadia was there. "You will? You can take care of him until they get here?"

"I wouldn't be any use to you." Nadia gestured shakily at her bloodied foot. "Go. Stop Mom if you can. I'll stay with Jack."

Sydney nodded; it was the first time the sisters had looked each other in the face since Sydney had learned the truth about Nadia and Jack. They were past such concerns now.

Turning back to her father, Sydney whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too," Jack said.

Vaughn took Sydney by the shoulders and towed her upright, knowing perhaps that even Sydney didn't have the strength to leave her dying father on her own. Sydney went, backing away at first and then running toward the jeep.

Before Nadia could even look down at Jack, he whispered, "Help me up."

"What? Jack, you're hurt, you can't!" But he was struggling to his feet even without her, so Nadia quickly moved to assist him, bracing his weight against her side and ignoring the wrench of pain in her ankle.

Jack looked toward Sydney, his head held high. In the truck, Sydney saw him – and despite the tears in her eyes, she took courage from her father's strength. Nadia could see that simply knowing that Jack had to ability to stand gave Sydney hope that maybe his injuries weren't as bad as they seemed. Knowing that, she could go.

The truck sped off. Jack kept looking after Sydney until the second the truck passed out of sight, when he slumped toward the ground. Too late, Nadia realized that he hadn't been able to spare even that much energy. He had traded his last strength so that his daughter's final memory of him would be of a man on his feet.

"Jack!" Nadia was only barely able to keep him from falling flat on his back. She eased him down and slid her right knee beneath his head as a kind of pillow. "Stay with me. You have to stay with me."

"Nadia." He looked at her face for the first time since they'd brought him out. "You know how this ends."

She would be damned if she'd admit it. "I know that you have to stay with me. Hang on, Jack. I know you can."

Jack nodded. He wasn't making her any promises; he simply didn't want to argue. Or perhaps he no longer had the breath for it.

Quick mental calculations told Nadia that the MedEvac team couldn't get there in less than two hours. That was a long time for anyone to survive with a wound so serious, and none of the few first aid supplies she had nearby would be of any use. All she could do was hold him close, comfort him and hope. Time ceased to have any meaning. Pain and fear and blood loss confused her, jumbling everything together.

Sometimes she thought about her father, lying dead a few feet away, but Nadia always pushed that aside. Time to grieve for him later, to hate him, to ask who he had really been. For now, Jack needed her. He did not speak – his breaths were shallow and labored – but as afternoon turned into twilight, she kept stroking his forehead or squeezing his hand, brokenly whispering the few phrases she could manage: _Hold on, Stay with me, I'm here. _

Then Jack suddenly coughed, hard, and tried to turn himself over. "Have to – go back."

"What?" Was he delirious? "No. You have to lie still, Jack."

"Inside the cave – the Rambaldi fluid –" Jack did not sound delirious; instead, despite his exhaustion and evident physical agony, he sounded more focused than he had since the firefight. "We have to destroy it."

"Later. We can do that later, when the MedEvac team comes. I promise. All right?"

Jack slowly nodded, rolling heavily onto his back one more. "I know – you can do it."

"Always thinking ahead," she said, laying her palm against his forehead. "Even now."

She had been speaking to herself, not to him, but at last he seemed to be able to hear her again. "While Rambaldi is out there – Sydney can't be safe. Or Isabelle."

"They'll be safe. We'll blow the cave with C4. Nothing will be left. Rambaldi's followers will never find any of it."

"Isabelle." Jack's eyes stared up into the blackening sky. Without the sun's light, the Gobi winds were harsh and cold. Within a few minutes, they would be alone in the dark. "I wanted to see – see her grow up."

Nadia felt her throat tighten painfully, but she managed to whisper, "Isabelle will always know how much you love her. Always."

"Sydney never seemed to believe. That I loved her. I didn't tell her enough."

"You told her you loved her before she left. It was the last thing you said to her. And she believes you, Jack. Sydney knows. She knows how much you love her. "

"And you?" His eyes met hers. "Do you know?"

Tears blinded her, and a sob shook her body. "I know. I do know. I love you too."

Jack's hand shifted in the sand, as much of a gesture as he could make. She grasped his fingers and lifted his hand to her mouth. Could he still feel her kiss his palm? She hoped so. It wasn't much but it was something. It would help her to think that the last thing he knew on earth was a gesture of love.

Then, behind her, she heard a footstep. Nadia whirled around, saw the dark figure emerging from the cave and screamed.

"My God." Sloane walked toward her. He was no ghost, no hallucination, but real and alive. How, how, how? "I thought you were dead."

Jack tensed, but he said nothing. Nadia gripped his hand even tighter. Part of her wanted to run to her father and take him in her arms, but it was the part of herself she didn't trust any longer.

"It really is you?" Sloane came another step closer. "The double in Australia – it wasn't a double at all, was it?"

Nadia lifted her chin; she didn't know if he could see her scarred throat in the dusk, but she wanted him to see. "You left me for dead. "

"Sweetheart. I'm sorry, I thought the time – I was wrong. I should have known. Rambaldi wouldn't have been so – no. Immortality would have meant nothing without you. Abraham's son came down the mountain with him, after all."

The word "immortality" forced its way into her consciousness, blotting out everything else. "What do you mean, immortal?"

"Rambaldi's great work has been accomplished at last. I can put everything right. That's all I've wanted for so long, to put things right again."

_Sydney really did shoot him. She did kill him. But Rambaldi has brought him back to life. _

Sloane looked down at Jack then. Jack said nothing. Even in his weakened, bloodied state, the force of his anger was evident in the way he glared up at Sloane.

When Sloane spoke again, he spoke to Jack. "I can save you."

"What?" Nadia felt the terrible, off-kilter wrench of hope.

Sloane never glanced away from the man he'd shot; he never stopped smiling. "I would never have fired at you if I hadn't known I could undo the damage I'd caused and make this up to you. I can make it all up to you, Jack. We have eternity to make things right, the way they used to be and always should have been."

"I don't want your amends, Arvin." Jack coughed again, and blood trickled from the corner of his lips. "And I don't want Rambaldi – anywhere near me."

"You can't mean that. You don't want to die, not now, with a granddaughter to raise."

Of course Jack didn't want to die. Of course he wanted to be with Isabelle and Sydney again. But he wouldn't sell his soul for it, and that would be the price of Rambaldi's immortality. Nadia knew because she had watched her father pay.

"Stay back," Jack warned.

Her father obviously thought nothing of that, so Nadia grabbed the gun she'd dropped before and aimed it at his face. "You heard him. Stay back."

"Nadia. Think about this," Sloane said mildly. "You can't kill me. I can't die."

"I can hurt you," Nadia said. "And I can stop you. Leave Jack alone."

"Nadia. _Please_."

"This isn't about what you want. It's about what Jack wants."

Sloane did not want to walk away from Jack; even now, even as Jack lay dying at his hand, he still thought of Jack as his friend. "I never intended for this to happen this way," he whispered.

"I never intend to speak to you again," she spat. "Get away from Jack, now, before I hurt you just because I can."

"Never is a long time. And we have eternity now, Nadia. We have all the time in the world."

With that her father was gone, and Nadia was left alone. She bent down over Jack, who was so still that, for one horrifying moment, she thought he had died while she shouted at Sloane. But he opened his eyes when she stroked his cheek.

"You knew," she said. "You knew the Rambaldi fluid might resurrect him. That's why you wanted to go back into the cave."

"Thought – maybe." Jack did not sound focused any longer. "Not sure. Thought – a long time – not now –"

"It's okay."

Nothing in the world was okay. Her father had achieved Rambaldi's immortality, which meant that he was free to warn his accomplice in Hong Kong. Nadia would call in her own warning now, but that might not do any good: Sydney and Vaughn could be walking into a trap. Sloane's power was nearly complete.

If Jack realized that, he gave no sign. He was far gone now, slipping away. Nadia held onto his hand as though she could keep him alive by force of will, as though she never, ever had to let him go.

**

_Then_

 

On the videoscreens in front of them, two infrared figures representing Sydney and Marshall glowed reassuringly gold and red: alive. Marshall had just slipped into Cuba, hand-built heat-seeking tech and dug up a grave in time to save Sydney's life.

When Nadia realized that she was still touching Jack's shoulder, she pulled her hand away. Jack glanced up at her then; it felt like almost the first moment they'd looked each other in the eyes since they'd called off their affair three months before.

"You're all right?" she ventured.

"Fine," Jack replied, in the way that she knew meant he wasn't fine. "Phoenix and Merlin need background information on our sources in Germany. Re-examine the Cologne files. I'll make the calls to get them set up with op-tech."

Jack stalked off. Eric came to Nadia's side, muttering, "The guy's like a walking Hallmark card, huh?"

"Don't criticize him. You might feel the need to stay in control too, if you'd just watched your daughter nearly die in front of you."

"Hey, hey." Eric held up his hands as though in surrender. "I wasn't criticizing Jack. Just joking."

Nadia closed her eyes; as ever, the lights in APO were so brilliant that even behind her eyelids there was brightness. White on white on white. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still reeling."

Eric gave her a quick hug. "Sydney's okay. Dixon's getting better. We're going to make it through this."

"I know. Thank you." She kissed him briefly on the cheek before going back to her tasks.

Nadia and Eric had become lovers not two weeks after Jack and she had split. Eric was wonderful in bed, generous and creative, and his kindness was as constant as his good humor. They spent most of their free time together, either with Syd and Vaughn or on their own, and on the balance, Nadia felt it was probably the most functional romance she'd ever had in her life.

She hoped very much that this wasn't the reason she didn't love him.

No, she thought, it wasn't Eric's goodness that kept her from falling for him; not even she was that fucked-up. It was simply the fact that they weren't that much alike.

Eric preferred to joke his way through awkward situations; Nadia liked dealing with them head-on where possible. Eric enjoyed spending his nights out, and the more people the better; if he could get all his pals to a bowling alley for a night of beer and gutter balls, he was in heaven. Nadia needed more solitude, and she preferred to spend time with friends one-on-one. Eric, though enormously intelligent, did not read much for pleasure; Nadia had an open book on her bedside and another on the end table next to the sofa, so that she could go back and forth between the two when she was home. They liked the same bands and shared an enthusiasm for soccer, but that wasn't very much to build on.

She loved spending time with Eric, but she had begun to realize that she would never love Eric himself, not as a man. And although Eric cared very much for her, Nadia suspected he was starting to think much the same way.

She found this something of a relief. Eric's role in her life was wholly good; Nadia wanted to think she could be the same to him, for however long this would last.

Determinedly, she went to work on the assignment Jack had set for her. Sydney was already back on active duty, and if her sister only got five minutes to collect herself after being buried alive, Nadia could hardly expect more.

That afternoon, after Marshall and Sydney had successfully completed the op in Germany but before they'd begun the long trip home, the APO quarantine was lifted. Vaughn and Eric had made themselves some kind of deal about unwinding with a session on the hockey rink, to which she was invited; they suspected nothing when Nadia declined. She didn't much care for the ice. She had brought her car instead of taking the train that morning and was grateful for it; now she could drive home in the late afternoon sunshine. Maybe crack open the sunroof. Perfect.

As she strapped on her seat belt, her cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"Nadia."

"Jack. Hi. Did something happen with Sydney and Marshall?"

"No. They're fine. This isn't about work."

Nadia, who had been sliding the keys into the ignition, froze. Slowly she said, "Where are you?"

"Driving home."

"Okay, what's up?"

"I was hoping you would come to my place."

Shocked, Nadia tried to find the words to reply. They had gotten out of the affair safely, without hurting Sydney or outraging her father. The two of them were even friendly, if necessarily distant. And Eric was now her boyfriend; once, Nadia would have considered that no impediment, but she was trying to be a different person now, a better one.

That meant the obvious answer was no. But she couldn't say it.

Jack's voice was very quiet as he added, "Come."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up without another word.

_What am I doing? This is impossible. I can't let this happen again. I can't. _

Yet she kept driving along the road to Jack's. The thought of making love with him again made her palms moist, her heart fast, her breathing quick. She had banished Jack even from her fantasies, but that had been only the illusion of recovery.

_This is ridiculous. It's crazy. It's not even like Jack to ask you, no matter how insane the past 36 hours have been. By the time you get there, he'll already be over it. _

But then Nadia thought he really would have gotten over it, and that made it okay. Jack had been badly frightened for Sydney – that was all. He would be embarrassed by his slip, but when Nadia arrived and spoke to him reasonably, instead of hopping straight into bed with him, Jack would be relieved. They could even laugh about this together, perhaps.

Maybe this would open up the possibility of them talking as friends once in a while. She'd missed Jack. That was one of the things that had never occurred to her, before – that she would miss simply being with him.

As she rapped on his apartment door, Nadia took a deep breath. He opened the door wearing his dark-blue bathrobe; because he never undressed before they made love, Nadia thought at first that he must surely have asked her here just to talk after all. But – the bathrobe? Was he sick, perhaps?

Jack said nothing at first. He put one hand on her shoulder, drawing her in and shutting the door behind them. Then he kissed her – not hard, not teasing, not any way he'd ever kissed her before. This was uncertain. Soft. Gentle.

Disarmed, Nadia let him keep kissing her; her mouth opened beneath his very slowly, bit by bit, kiss by kiss. Jack cradled her face in his hands, stroked her hair. It was as though she was precious to him, and as though she had wanted him to touch her like this all the while, but hadn't realized it until now.

When he unbuttoned her suit jacket, Nadia pulled her lips from his just far enough to whisper, "We shouldn't start this again."

"We aren't." Jack slid the jacket from her shoulders. "This is the last time."

"Goodbye?"

"Exactly."

From any other man, it would've been self-deception at best, a lousy lie to get her into bed at worst. From Jack, Nadia believed it. His resolve was her excuse. Nadia began unknotting the tie of his bathrobe. "All right. Goodbye."

Until that afternoon, Nadia had never dreamed that Jack could take things so slowly, that he could spend so much time kissing her legs, tracing along the line of her arms and shoulders with his tongue, stroking her from the small of her back to the nape of her neck, then down again to her toes. He seemed to want to memorize her: scent, taste, touch, sight. Even when she finally sank down onto his cock, uniting their bodies for the last time, Jack drew her shoulders toward him so that he could rest his head against her chest and hear her heartbeat. Nadia rode him slowly so that it would last as long as possible.

_Goodbye_, she thought as they kissed. She kept her eyes open so that she could see them in his bedroom mirror – his broad back, he hands braced on his shoulders, the tangle of their legs where she straddled him. She wanted to remember.

Afterward, Jack was normally the one who was instantly collected again This time he lay in bed, clearly exhausted, and Nadia felt that she should fetch them glasses of water. On the kitchen counter, she saw a few green apples left in a bowl and snatched one for herself. Jack propped up in bed to accept the water but still did not rise or speak. Nadia shrugged on his white shirt – which, oddly for him, he'd simply abandoned on the floor instead of hanging in the closet – and set to work peeling her apple.

"Can you do it without breaking the peel?" Jack said.

"Usually. We'll see."

He nodded, then added, as though it were the natural next step in the conversation, "You don't love Weiss."

Nadia paused for only a second, then continued peeling without ever looking up. "You sound very sure of that."

"If you loved Weiss, you wouldn't have come here today."

"No." The peel was down to her waist now, a long, pale green coil. "I care about him. But we aren't in love."

"You should be. In love, I mean."

"I doubt Eric would be thrilled if he knew how you chose to argue on his behalf."

"That's not what I meant."

Nadia stopped and looked squarely at Jack. "I'd like to know what you do mean. Do you even know, Jack?"

Normally emotional conversations ensured Jack's awkwardness and silence. Now, however, he smiled at her so gently that it felt like another kiss. "I meant that you need to be in love with someone. To feel that strongly. I think it's your nature to want that and to be dissatisfied with anything less."

She sighed and leaned her head against the side of the window. Her shadow fell over Jack's outline beneath the covers. "I'd like that," she admitted. "But finding someone that you connect with that way – it's not easy. It doesn't happen for everyone."

"It's going to happen for you."

"Are you becoming sentimental?"

"Apparently so." He sounded very tired.

Two more turns of the apple, one more twist of the knife and the apple peel was complete and unbroken. Nadia held it up, and Jack smiled at her. Something about the almost childlike pleasure he took in her small skill made he want to go to him and hold him again, but she understood that they'd already said their goodbye.

Jack put on his bathrobe to see her to the door. He didn't kiss her again.

_I will never understand him,_ Nadia thought as she drove away. _ Never. _

**

Two weeks later, Nadia understood it all.

"Walking into a chamber full of radiation – I can't even wrap my mind around that." Sydney's face was pale and drawn, and she hugged herself as she stood in the corridor of the APO clinic. Nadia put one hand on her shoulder and cast a concerned glance toward the door of Jack's room. "Nadia, Dad really thought he was going to die."

"You know that he'd give his life for you, Sydney. He's your father."

Sydney nodded, her eyes shiny with tears. "I guess I never thought he could really die. You know? When I was little, I thought he was the strongest man in the whole world. Seeing him like that – sick, confused –" She made a small gesture with one hand, as though trying to take hold of something she could not quite grasp.

Nadia hugged her sister tightly, too lost in her own thoughts to provide any other comfort. She remembered the way Jack had held her, the tenderness with which he had spoken to her, and wondered why she had not seen then that he believed himself to be a dying man. Only death could make Jack Bristow reveal his vulnerabilities; only then would he believe he had nothing to lose.

Three days later, when Dr. Liddell's treatment had begun to prove itself and Sydney smiled again with hope, Nadia was finally able to talk her into going home to eat and rest. As Nadia had calculated, Sydney refused to go before extracting a promise that Nadia would look in on Jack personally that night; this freed Nadia from having to come up with excuses to do so. After Weiss left for the day and Vaughn took Sydney to the apartment, Nadia quietly went into Jack's room – the first time she had seen him since she'd watched, through security cameras, as Sydney pretended to be their mother to recreate the life Jack had lost so long ago.

Jack was asleep. Nadia tried to shut the door behind her quietly, but he stirred almost immediately, alert even now to potential danger. "Nadia," he whispered. "Where is Sydney?"

"Vaughn took her home."

"Good." Jack coughed once, then pushed himself up slightly, asserting what little dignity he could while wearing a hospital gown. "She needs the rest."

"How are you?"

"Fine."

Only Jack could say such a thing while still connected to an IV and a heart monitor. Nadia sat on the corner of his hospital bed and smiled gently at him. "I understand, now."

"What do you mean?"

"Why you made love to me two weeks ago." As Jack's eyes widened in alarm, Nadia quickly added, "The room's clean. Sydney swept it thoroughly days ago. She knew you might talk when you were – unwell, or confused – well, she took care of it."

Jack nodded, and although his face did not change expression, Nadia could tell that the promise of privacy had comforted him. He did not ask her questions; he confirmed what she already knew. "You're young, but you've faced death often enough to know what it feels like."

"Sometimes you want that comfort – some kind of connection, anything. It's the only way you can prove you're still alive." There had been more to it than that, Nadia realized, but this was as much as she and Jack ever needed to acknowledge aloud. "I just want to know one thing."

"Anything."

She doubted he meant that, but coming from Jack, it was a kind offer. "When we were together – Jack, did you know it was me? Or did you think I was my mother?"

Her question surprised him more than she would have thought. Hesitantly, he touched her hand, as though he felt she might flinch. "I knew where I was, and who I was with."

"You thought you were visiting Dr. Liddell and you weren't."

"I've come to recognize that I was confused about many things. But not about you."

Nadia knew that he meant to comfort her, but given how tenderly he had touched her – the raw emotion she had sensed in him that afternoon – it would almost have been better if he had thought himself with Laura after all. She said only, "I'm glad you're going to be all right."

"That makes two of us."

Nadia laughed despite herself. Jack kissed her hand, a gesture as startling as it was touching, and then let go as easily as though they had never touched at all.

**

_Now_

 

Pain walled him in. It blinded him, deafened him, made him stupid, wordless and paralyzed. Jack only knew that he was still alive, that only death could end this pain. He had told Sydney goodbye, so there was no reason not to die.

And yet he did not.

The pain changed, shunting him in and out of consciousness, through a world made of different shades of red that were all darker than black. At first he was cold and still; later, everything around him seemed to be moving, bumping from side to side, but the air somehow had become even colder. The only touch in the world that wasn't pain was someone holding his hand – Nadia. It was Nadia. He was grateful that he wouldn't die alone; she was the only person besides Sydney that he would ever have wanted to be here.

When he could think, he tried to envision her face, or Sydney's, or little Isabelle's. My girls. Remembering them comforted him. But mostly he was in too much pain to think.

Time changed again. He was warmer now, and the pain had changed; it was still there, but farther away now, walled off and masked by something. Drugs, maybe. How had anybody managed to get drugs to him in the Gobi Desert?

And as soon as Jack thought that – an analytical question, based in the facts of his situation – he knew that he wasn't dying.

"They have to be able to get us back faster than two weeks."

"That's not what they're saying now. The situation might change tomorrow –"

"What if we can't get satellite uplink tomorrow? The phone lines aren't any help."

Jack opened his eyes. The lighting was dim – not a hospital, then – but he had an IV in his arm, and bandages swaddled his chest. His breaths were shallow; however, the terrible suffocating pressure he'd felt in the desert was almost gone. He lay on a sort of cot in some cinderblock room. A sign was painted on the wall in Hindi, a language Jack could recognize but not read. Shadows in the corner moved, took form –

"Dad?" Sydney peered down at him, tear tracks on her cheeks. "Dad, can you hear me?"

"I was shot in the chest. Not the ear."

Normally such comments kept Sydney from becoming too sentimental, but it didn't work this time. She bent over and kissed him on the forehead; one of her hands brushed his cheek. Jack would gladly have submitted to the embrace if he hadn't suspected that she needed to remain focused.

"You're in Mumbai." That was Nadia. As Sydney stood up again, Jack could see Nadia standing by his bedside. The businesslike way in which she spoke did not hide the grateful tears in her eyes. "India has allowed U.S. military and intelligence personnel to set up bases here. The medical facilities are all swamped, but they were able to operate on you. You'll be all right."

"Good to know," Jack rasped, "but tell me the rest."

Sydney and Nadia exchanged glances. The third shadow came closer and revealed himself to be Vaughn, who said, "Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"

"Talk."

"I failed," Sydney said. Her voice was flat, her eyes dead. "I got to Hong Kong too late."

"Sydney, it's not your fault!" Nadia protested. "It's mine. Dad got out of that cave, and I didn't stop him. That gave him time to warn Mom. That's why it happened. Not because of anything you did."

With a shock, Jack remembered Sloane standing over him in the desert – now immortal and, perhaps, invincible. He'd hoped that part was a hallucination.

"I got to the top of the building – their headquarters in Hong Kong – and Mom was getting into a helicopter. Sark was piloting it. They had the Horizon, and I knew they were going to use the warheads – that I couldn't stop them –" Sydney was very near breaking down now, and her hand tightened around Jack's. "Mom told me not to feel bad. She said that. She was yelling over the helicopter, and she said, 'It couldn't have happened any other way.' And then all I could do was watch her go."

Jack could envision Irina, her long hair whipping in the gale from the helicopter's blades, her dark eyes strangely serene despite the chaos she left behind her. They had both told their daughter goodbye that day, believing that they were leaving her behind forever. Could Irina have felt the same anguish he felt? If so, how could she have borne leaving Sydney at all? "What then?"

"They launched the missiles." Vaughn cut in quickly, perhaps to spare Sydney from having to say the rest. "Air Force defense was able to stop the ones headed toward D.C., but London – it's all but gone."

It was too big to comprehend. Millions of lives, all ended, all by the doing of his wife and his oldest friend: it couldn't be true, and yet Jack did not doubt it. Jack felt only a strange, abstract shock and was aware that later he would be very glad that he'd been heavily drugged when he heard this news.

Sydney was crying now, heavy, gulping sobs, and Vaughn steadied her shoulder with one hand as he continued his explanation. "Very few people understand who's responsible for bombing London. Most countries have seen widespread rioting and panic. Almost every major city across the globe is emptying out; people are running to places they think are less likely to be targets of the next nuke strike. Waves of refugees, everywhere – California, Europe, the Middle East. Governments have shut down the Web and cut off a lot of satellite access. It's been four days now, and there's no sign that the situation's stabilizing. In fact, it's pretty much the opposite."

Nadia stepped closer to Jack and took his hand – maybe for his comfort, maybe for her own. Sydney was weeping too hard to notice or care. "There are other signs, too." Nadia kept her voice low and even; only because he knew her so well could Jack see how terrified she was. "The aurora borealis has appeared all over the globe, even at the equator. There are tornadoes in Africa and Europe. It hails in the desert. They're all signs, Jack. Rambaldi's signs."

"The prophecy," Sydney said thickly, wiping at her cheeks. "The greatest power unto utter devastation."

"It's _not your fault_," Vaughn repeated, but Sydney turned her head from them all.

Jack wanted to say something to comfort her, but no comfort was possible, not for this. He had never felt so betrayed or helpless – no, not even when he had first learned the truth about "Laura." That had been his undoing; this would be the ruin of the entire world.

Sloane had won. Irina had been against them all along. The Horizon had been used, and the world would never be the same again. Rambaldi's future waited for them, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Now

 

The searchlights swept past the windows of Jack's apartment as the curfew sirens sounded. Shivering, Nadia pulled her sweater more tightly around her and tugged the cat into her lap. Maxine blinked up at her, and her furry body was tense beneath Nadia's hands.

"Are you ready?" Vaughn asked. He'd laid out all the implements: the fountain pen, the reams of paper, the tubing, the restraints and the syringe.

"Give me a couple seconds." She hated that she needed the time to prepare herself, but she did. Vaughn understood, or at least he didn't argue.

Holding the cat against her chest, Nadia walked to the window. Jack's neighborhood had once been comfortable, busy and vital, a place anyone might come to eat or shop. Now the parking lot of his building was almost empty, and the streets beyond were devoid of cars. The streetlights were still working in this part of town, though only at half power. In the distance she could see the searchlights continuing their circuit. Once, lights like that in LA would've meant a film premiere. It felt like a thousand years ago.

Carefully, she lowered Maxine onto Jack's piano. A few treble notes sounded beneath her paws before the cat leapt to the bench and set to washing her ears. Nadia turned to Vaughn. "Okay. Let's go."

She settled herself onto the sofa. The bed might have made more sense, but Nadia didn't want to associate this with the place she and Jack slept. Vaughn strapped her ankles together and gave her the rubber bite guard. Nadia imagined herself a boxer as she slid it into her mouth, curling her lips around it as best she could. After Vaughn tied another strap beneath her breasts and around her arms, Nadia lay down on the sofa.

_Don't look,_ she told herself as Vaughn lifted the flask of green Rambaldi elixir and filled the syringe. _It's worse when you look._ But she couldn't turn away.

Vaughn held the needle over the flask as he pushed down on the syringe to ensure that no air would enter Nadia's veins and kill her. Even the few droplets that sprayed from the tip had to be conserved. Then he tapped her arm firmly just beneath the elbow; her needle-tracked arms outlined the vein. "Ready?"

Nadia nodded. The needle slid in, pain and rush and –

_Rambaldi's eye, peering down at her, reforming and focusing into his symbol, his mark. Two angles, two daughters, both circling one great prize, one destined to claim it, the other destined to die._

"It couldn't have happened any other way."

Irina looking upward, a thin trickle of red shining wet on one cheek as though she were weeping blood.

Sydney's face in the flames, blackening and curling as words written in gold began to glow.

"Keep going," her father called, smiling at her as she edged across the stained-glass floor, even as the cracks appeared beneath her feet and Nadia was falling, falling down to die.

Golden koi fish swimming around her, not through water but through blood.

"We have to go in there." Jack looking back at the cave, at their one chance to stop Sloane, blood on his shirt, on Nadia's hands.

"Don't move." Jack staring down at her as she lay broken on Sloane's floor.

Rambaldi's Sphere of Life, and the Horizon, both of them red as marrow at their centers, pulsing with an unnatural energy that she had to stop, stop, stop before the entire world was made of blood, not long now.

A brass pendulum suspended in a pyramid of wires, clicking like a metronome, promising an ending if only it could stop –

"Stop!" Nadia cried, or tried to; the bite guard slurred her words. She worked her jaws, spit it out. "Stop it, stop, please!"

"We're done. I promise. It's over." Hurriedly, Vaughn put one arm around her shoulders. On the floor around him were scattered dozens of pages now thick with writing in languages Nadia didn't even speak. Her hand cramped from the effort, and her body still burned with that unnatural fire.

But the worst of the pain was over. Vaughn untied her restraints, and Nadia curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I hate asking you this right now, but you know I have to. Did you see anything? Anything at all?" Vaughn massaged her ankles, which were red and ropy from their bondage.

"I saw the Sunset."

"Finally. Thank God. Can you – describe it, sketch it, something?"

"Yeah." Nadia took up the pen again and did the best job she could. Without Rambaldi's fluid and spirit flowing through her, her artistic talent was severely limited. Her simple sketch would probably get the idea across. "The rest was nothing I haven't seen before."

Turning the sketch in his hands, Vaughn squinted down at it, as though willing the Sunset to reveal its secrets. "Any idea where it is?"

"Don't you think I would've told you if I did?" Nadia took a deep breath and held up one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay. Given what you've just been through, nobody could expect you to be in a great mood." Vaughn gave her a rueful smile.

Nadia put one hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she repeated more quietly. "If you didn't come here and do this, I'd have to go to the field office. And the way things are now – I'm not sure the CIA would let me walk out again."

"You're not a prisoner." Vaughn did not say it as though the thought were ridiculous; he knew better. "We won't let that happen."

"We" certainly meant Jack and Vaughn. Probably it meant Sydney too, but these days, Nadia wasn't entirely sure.

The doorknob turned, and Sydney and Jack walked in. Although Jack held himself somewhat stiffly, Sydney did not have to help him through the door, and when he saw Nadia, he smiled. Nadia would have liked to go to him, but they never acknowledged their romantic relationship in front of Sydney – even though they'd lived together in Jack's apartment since they'd made it back to the United States.

"How do the streets look?" Vaughn said. These days, that was the equivalent of asking about the weather.

"Quiet. Maybe too quiet, but I think we'll get home without any trouble." Sydney walked into the bedroom without waiting for an update on the Rambaldi visions.

Instead, it was Jack who sat by Nadia's side. "Any progress?"

Vaughn held out the sketch. Nadia explained, "The Sunset. I still don't know where it is, but – at least we'll know it when we find it."

"They'll be glad to hear that at Langley," Jack said. Then he called toward the bedroom, "You two should hurry back. The patrols will start soon."

"Our badges get us through the checkpoints. You know this." Sydney didn't make eye contact with anyone as she walked out of the bedroom, Isabelle sound asleep in her arms.

"After the rioting this weekend –" Nadia ventured.

"We're fine," Sydney insisted. She walked past all of them toward the door. In her blue jeans and black canvas jacket, Sydney looked much as she had any day she was hanging out in Los Angeles, save for the gun holstered to her thigh. "Let's get started."

Vaughn shared a quick look with Jack and Nadia. They were all worried about Sydney these days. Ever since she'd failed to stop Irina in Hong Kong, Sydney had been withdrawn and short-tempered, and almost obsessively focused on her work. She felt responsible, and nothing anyone said could convince her otherwise. Ordinarily, any of the three of them might have been able to get through to her. But Sydney had walled off Jack and Nadia the moment she'd learned about their romance. Although she was protective toward them both, particularly Jack, there was a distance there that neither could breach.

Nadia suspected that Vaughn was having trouble reaching Sydney as well, but she couldn't be sure. Out of respect for Sydney, he refused to talk to Jack or Nadia about what she was going through. Although Nadia could understand his loyalty, it was getting them nowhere.

The Horizon had symbolized the end of so many things. Nadia prayed it had not stolen her sister's courage too, leaving only doubt and anger behind.

"Be careful," Jack said as Vaughn joined Sydney and Isabelle at the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm always careful." Sydney walked out. Vaughn gave them a quick wave before he followed.

Now that they were alone, Nadia kissed Jack quickly. "Tomorrow? Does the doctor need to see you again already? You're all right, aren't you?"

"I'm all right. In fact, the doctor's cleared me for duty."

Her eyes opened wide. "Jack, no. It's too soon." He still became short of breath when they had to take the stairs instead of the elevator, and though he did his best to conceal it, Nadia knew Jack rarely slept through the night without pain.

He simply shook his head. "The agency needs every man."

"You're no good to anyone if you're not ready."

"I can shoot," he said, in a steady, even tone meant to reassure. "I can drive. More to the point, I understand what we're up against. The CIA needs everyone who knows anything about Sloane, Irina or Rambaldi. I have to get back to work. There's no time for anything else."

"I know that. I do." Nadia laid her head upon his shoulder. Memories of Rambaldi's clockwork marvels, of the thousand spinning gears and calligraphy characters that his visions made her see, glittered in her mind's eye and blinded her to the here and now.

Perhaps Jack sensed what she was thinking. "You did good work today."

"I don't have anything to do with it. It's part of what I am, like my hair or my eyes. Rambaldi's birthmark. Nothing more than that."

"You're strong enough to endure it. Those visions – you've had nightmares about them your entire life. But you don't complain. You don't hold back. That's part of you too."

Nadia slipped her arms around Jack. He rested one broad hand on her head, and with the other he rubbed the small of her back in slow, soothing circles. It would have been nice to stay like this forever, but Nadia knew there was more. "What aren't you telling me?"

"They've been discussing a move from L.A. There's an Army base in Missouri we might be relocated to in the next couple of months."

"All of us?"

"All West Coast operatives, a few others as well." Jack paused. "Eric Weiss, possibly."

He was deeply uneasy, but Nadia suspected that had nothing to with any insecurity about Eric. Jack understood matters between them better than that. "Do you mean that they'll take me into custody? So that I'll have to take the fluid all the time?"

"No." His embrace tightened around her. "I wouldn't permit it."

"Could you stop them? If they wanted to?"

"Yes."

Maybe he could. Jack always had a backup plan. Nadia sat upright and looked him in the face. "What is it, then? What's troubling you?"

Jack drew back from her, his body language suddenly stiff and formal, and no longer met her eyes. "When we move, you might choose to live separately."

"What?"

"If we're going to alter our status, this is a fairly obvious time to do it."

"Alter our status?" Only Jack could put it so coldly. "Is that what you want?"

"It's about what you want. After these past few weeks, I wouldn't blame you if you'd reconsidered."

The past few weeks had been wretched in nearly every possible sense of the word. But that had nothing to do with her relationship with Jack; in fact, she felt that was all that had kept her sane. "I don't understand."

"Since Mongolia, you haven't had a lover. You've had a patient. Your relationship with Sydney has suffered. You've given up a great deal, Nadia. I appreciate that you've stood by me. But you're not obligated any longer."

Nadia stared at him, wondering how she could be this astonished by behavior that was so utterly – well, so utterly Jack. "Do you really think that's why I've stayed with you all this time? A sense of obligation?" He said nothing. "I might as well warn you now. I'm not that nice."

"You've had to bandage me. You've had to bathe me."

"Jack, you'd been shot. You nearly died. Of course you needed help. I did after I was shot, too. Remember?"

It wasn't wounded pride that pricked at him now, she saw. It was another concern, one that had apparently troubled him for a long time. Jack still did not look at her as he said, "I'm 30 years older than you. "

"Am I supposed to be surprised?"

"Nadia –"

"Stop. You're acting like an ass."

"I didn't expect that part to surprise you."

"No. Listen to me. I don't know about you – maybe you just thought it was what I wanted to hear, and if that's true, just tell me – but I meant what I said after you were shot." She took a deep breath and repeated words she hadn't said aloud since Mongolia: "I love you, Jack."

"I love you too," he said, so simply that it was impossible to doubt him. "But it's not that simple."

"It is now." The searchlights swept past the apartment windows again, silhouetting the cat on the sill in a halo of gold. "All those good reasons we had for not being together – they're gone now. They're part of the world that the Horizon killed, and they're just part of what we lost. We have to take care of each other. There's no time for anything else."

For a few moments, they regarded one another without speaking. The lights dimmed – the LA power grid going to quarter power, as it did every night. They only had half power during the day. Nadia wondered if they would have any power in Missouri at all. Everything in Jack's apartment would be lost to them soon. The piano would sit here, gathering dust. The books would go unopened, and spiders would spin webs between the pieces on the chessboard.

Jack put his arms around her then. Nadia took a deep breath as he kissed her forehead, her eyelids and her cheek, tracing the shape of her face with his fingertips. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the touch: ears, nose, chin, lips, all of her outlined with warmth. Jack had done this sometimes when he was first at home, not even able to stand up for long yet; it had been the only way he could touch her. Nadia had felt as though he were memorizing her features, so that he would know her even in the dark. He had a deeper capacity for tenderness than she'd dreamed in the beginning; unlike most people, his came out when he felt most vulnerable, rather than most safe. Nadia was like that too, sometimes.

Then he did something he hadn't done in a while – bringing his hands up beneath her cardigan so that his fingertips stroked her back. Nadia whispered, "Did the doctor clear you for anything besides field work?"

"As a matter of fact, he did." Still he hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I can be gentle."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." Nadia took his hand to lead him back into the bedroom. "I'm sure."

 

**

_Then_

 

Nadia was sleeping, and then she was flying – zero to 60, darkness to brilliance, dreams to harsh, painful reality. Pain bloomed in her belly, out and out and out, and she sucked in a breath, or tried to; something was over her face, and she couldn't inhale. Her hands wouldn't quite do what she wanted them to do, but she managed to knock the thing away. Plastic. A tube. White light. She blinked a few times, realizing that she was in a hospital room.

Jack sat next to her. Before she could even find the strength to say his name, he had taken her hand in his. "Nadia, are you all right?"

"I – where –"

"You're in the CIA medical facility. You were shot by Anna Espinosa. Do you remember?"

She did not remember the gunshot itself – had she not seen her attacker, perhaps? – but Nadia remembered falling to the floor, and Sydney's horrified face above her. "Oh, my God."

"I have to ask you something immediately. Nadia, think." Jack moved closer. With one hand, he stroked her hair back from her forehead. His touch comforted her. "Who is going to buy the Dante Compound from Anna Espinosa? Where might they meet? One of Espinosa's men told you before you were shot. Do you remember? We need that intel."

Everything coalesced in Nadia's mind, taking form and shape at last. "The name was – Guinot. Michel Guinot. He's, ah, he's a Russian arms dealer – in – in Venice. Yes. Venice."

"You're sure." It wasn't a question. Jack believed her. He squeezed her hand. "We need to act on this right away. I'll be back soon, and I'll send your father."

"Okay." Nadia smiled at him as he hurried away.

The next few weeks were difficult. Nadia's recovery proceeded smoothly and quickly, but that didn't make it any more fun to have to ask her sister for help in the shower. Sydney dedicated herself to Nadia, spending as much time at home as she could; Vaughn and Eric often followed suit, bringing over DVDs of various infantile-but-amusing American comedies.

Sometimes Eric came by on his own. While Nadia sat in a lawn chair on the balcony, inhaling the crisp sea air, Eric would teach her card tricks so that she could "read minds." His earnestness touched her; it was as close as she ever came to truly falling for him.

"Does it freak you out?" Eric said once, as he dealt out a hand of solitaire for them to cooperate upon. "The shooting?"

"No. I guess it should, but it doesn't. That's a risk we all take in this line of work. Oh, red four on black five."

Eric slapped the four of hearts on the five of clubs. "Still, it was pretty scary stuff."

"More for you guys than for me. Black ten on red jack, there."

"And here's a red nine to go with it. Blam." His eyes studied her warily. "Something's bothering you, though. If it's not the shooting, then what? Because getting shot is the part that always gets to me."

He clearly thought it was the shooting, that she was putting on a brave face. Best to just tell him the truth. "What bothers me is the branding."

"Oh, jeez. Yeah. I almost forgot about that, what with the –"

"What with the shooting."

"Does it still hurt? Where they burned you?"

"No. But they did it to cause me pain, and they made me watch the brand heat up until it glowed. That was hard."

"I bet." Eric looked as though he might put his arms around her to comfort her.

Instead, Nadia laid a black two on a red three. "You missed another one."

They played on in good humor. Eric was willing to change the subject, for which Nadia was grateful. She did not feel that she could tell Eric the rest of the truth, which was that she hated the brand itself, the scars of Rambaldi's symbol burned into her flesh.

Now that she knew what Rambaldi's symbol really meant – that it stood for the prophecy in which she and Sydney would fight, and one sister would die – Nadia hated it more than ever. But now it was a part of her.

By necessity, Nadia did not get to see Jack often during her convalescence. Sydney rarely invited him over, and although he could and did come by to check on Nadia's condition, he could only do so a few times without arousing suspicion.

He called three nights before she was due to return to APO active duty. "How do you feel?"

"Better. My stomach muscles are still tender, but other than that, it's almost as though nothing had happened." Nadia touched the back of her neck and felt the small raised ridges of the Rambaldi mark on her skin.

"Have you seen your father?"

"Not in a while. It's difficult for Sydney to have him here. But we talk every day on the phone."

Jack was quiet for a few seconds, as though expecting her to ask him something. When she did not, he began, "There's something we ought to discuss before you return to APO."

"All right."

"It's about the hospital. Your coma."

Nadia propped herself up in bed, readying herself for what was to come. "Yes?"

"You deserve to know how and why you awakened then."

"You brought me out of the coma so you could get the information to save Sydney."

Silence. She'd shocked him.

At last Jack said, flatly, "Sloane told you."

"No, he didn't. He hinted, but it wasn't necessary. I knew what you'd done as soon as you asked me about the Dante Compound. Besides, I've been injected with stimulants before. I know what it feels like."

"I hope you also know that I wouldn't have taken that risk if there had been any other way to protect Sydney's life."

"I do." Nadia could hear Sydney laughing with Vaughn in front of the TV in the living room. "And you did the right thing."

"It's easy to say that because you made it through."

"Stop it, Jack. You've never apologized for protecting your daughter before, and you don't have to start with me."

Jack was quiet for a few moments, obviously struggling to know what to say. She knew he wasn't apologizing any longer, but there was still something he needed her to know. Safer not to ask herself what that might be.

He said only, "I never want to have to make that decision again."

"You never have to. I'd die for Sydney, Jack." Nadia's fingertips touched the scar on her neck again. If she made the decision, here and now, it was her choice – not Jack's, not Anna Espinosa's, not even Jack's. She had only one power against Rambaldi: the power of surrender. Nadia understood that strength better than most. "So if this ever comes up again, the decision's made for you. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

They were quiet for a few breaths, each unable to say more, each unwilling to hang up. They'd missed each other, Nadia realized, and absence was making them weak. "Sydney fusses over me like a mother hen, but after I've been at work for a couple of days – once she's on a mission –"

"Soon," Jack promised, and hung up.

Nadia folded her cell and set it on her bedstand, then turned out the light. Although she was tired, sleep eluded her, and she spent a long time tracing her Rambaldi scar, over and over, until it seemed to burn again as though the iron still pressed against her skin.

 

**

 

_Now_

 

Twenty pounds.

That was the entirety of their allowance for the trip to Fort Jeremiah – 20 pounds of goods, which could include clothes or books or keepsakes. Complete freedom of choice, within very slender limits.

Maxine weighed eight pounds. Jack had unsentimentally filled the rest of his allowance with clothing and a small picture of Sydney holding Isabelle. Nadia had never been a hoarder, but she found it more difficult to pare down. Growing up as an orphan had taught her to keep few possessions – but to care deeply about what little she had.

Clothes made up only six pounds. Nadia felt certain the agency would provide combat-appropriate coveralls and boots, and she wasn't sure she'd require anything beyond that for a very long time. Sydney's present, a thick volume of Shakespeare, weighed more than a pound by itself. After considering, Nadia dropped it into the box. She wasn't sure how many more gifts Sydney would give her; besides, if anything deserved to outlast the apocalypse, it was Shakespeare.

A small carved box she'd brought with her from Buenos Aires. An earthenware jug she'd purchased on the boardwalk in Santa Monica because she liked its iridescent glaze. Such small things, and yet they added up fast.

A framed photo of her with her father felt heavy in her hand, and after a long time, Nadia set it with the things to be left behind.

When she reached 18 pounds, Nadia looked at the rest of her things, wondered how to choose between them, then decided to choose nothing more of hers at all. Instead, she took a couple of Jack's pictures of young Sydney and dropped them into her box. It would be a surprise for him; if he protested, she would argue that he had brought Maxine, but that was for both of them, so it was fair for Nadia to share her allowance in return.

Los Angeles was the first place that had felt like home to her since the orphanage. Nadia did not know if that made it harder to leave, or whether it made leaving necessary. She hated watching this city fall apart; violence and fear dominated the pockets that hadn't already turned into a ghost town. But the CIA personnel were needed to deal with external dangers, not internal rioting, and the best way to keep them safe and mobile was to get them all to a sparsely populated area under military control. Limiting their items to 20 pounds was the government's way of keeping them mobile, able to move again at a moment's notice. If and when their location was discovered, they would have to flee immediately.

It would be a long time before anyplace felt like home again.

A knock at the door made Nadia's ears prick up. It was early in the day, and everyone she knew who was still in Los Angeles should've been at APO. Home invasions and burglaries were common in LA now, with looters eager to capitalize on the wealth of empty homes. Nadia grabbed the nearest gun and backed up to the wall nearest the door. "Who's there?"

"It's Sydney."

Shock made Nadia blink stupidly for a few seconds before she put aside the gun. She opened the door slowly; Sydney stood there with her arms crossed in front of her. "Hey," Nadia said. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I needed to talk to you alone."

Nadia let her in, not feeling hopeful. Probably this was about Jack.

But Sydney surprised her. "We need to talk about Mom."

"Mom? Oh, my God – has she contacted you?"

"No. But she gave me secret instructions for getting in touch with her back when – well, right before Isabelle was born." Sydney's gaze was distant. "Mom was lying about a lot of things then, but I think maybe she was telling the truth about this."

"Why do you want to talk to her? What could she possibly say that would help this situation?"

Sydney looked at Nadia strangely for a second before she answered. "We need to figure out what she wants. How much of this she and Sloane can control, and how much of it is Rambaldi."

Nadia walked toward the piano, which was already covered with a heavy drop cloth. "You think she'll give us any usable information?"

"Probably not. But there's a chance. And we might be able to figure out if there's a rift between her and Sloane; if there is, we could capitalize on that. Maybe drive a wedge between them."

Sydney still hoped for their mother's redemption. If she was giving into that kind of folly, then her guilt about fulfilling the prophecy on page 47 was even worse than Nadia had imagined.

Bluntly, Nadia pointed out, "Most of our contact methods are useless now. The Internet is military use only, we can't get in touch with most overseas publications to print coded messages, and a meet is out of the question."

"That's why I think she might be telling the truth," Sydney explained. "This method is different – a dead drop at the house they built where my old house used to be, before the fire. She said someone would follow up with a satellite comm unit that would work regardless of other communications traffic. It seemed – clumsy, difficult to manage. Not like her. It confused me."

"But now it makes sense. Mom knew this was coming. She wanted to have a way to find you."

"Not me." Sydney met Nadia's eyes at last. "I don't think Mom wanted me to survive, or at least she wanted me out of this business. Besides, I've already played my part in Rambaldi's prophecies."

Nadia shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"I don't care whether or not you believe it. The only thing that matters is that you can still read Rambaldi's thoughts. You can still find the Sunset, and who knows what else. You're the only one that matters to Mom anymore."

"She's still working with my father," Nadia pointed out. "Even though he left me bleeding to death on his floor. Doesn't sound to me like she cares very much."

"Mom gave me a specific reason for this drop – she told me to do it if and when your medical condition changed. That was all she cared about by that point. I didn't get a chance to set up the meet before Sloane – before your accident."

The emptiness in Nadia's heart where Irina belonged seemed to ache. "Maybe she didn't want to hear that I was all right. Maybe she wanted me dead."

"Nobody knows what Mom wants anymore." Sydney shrugged. She looked tired all the time. "We have to do this together, or we can't do it, period."

There was no logical reason for that to be true, but Nadia nonetheless felt that it was true. The brand on the back of her neck itched, reminding her to fight on Sydney's side whenever she could. "Then we'll do it together. And we have to hurry. "

"Not even a week left." Sydney's face became softer. "So many of my best memories happened in Los Angeles. I'm always going to remember this as the greatest place on earth. I know it's not, but – still. This is where I met Vaughn, where I gave Isabelle her first bath." She looked straight at Nadia and squared her shoulders before she added, "Where I got to know you."

Nadia wanted to embrace Sydney, but she knew that would be too much, too soon. Sydney gave affection freely – when she was ready, and only then. For the moment, Nadia was grateful for this first evidence that Sydney might be able to put aside her anger.

"Let's go now." Rising to her feet, Nadia collected the gun. "We might as well start immediately."

"There's one more thing I have to ask you." Sydney took a deep breath. "I don't want you to say anything about this to Dad."

That brought Nadia up short. "Why not?"

"You might have noticed that he's not exactly logical when it comes to Mom."

"True." Still, Nadia didn't like it. She was not naïve enough to believe that Jack had told her all his secrets, or to have told him all of hers. But Jack knew Irina and Sloane as well or better than anyone living; his reactions to them might be subjective, but no more so than Sydney's or Nadia's. The very idea of Irina Derevko was, in Jack's mind, a symbol of betrayal. Any secret involving her would hurt him.

Slowly, she asked, "Was it like this for you?"

Sydney frowned. "Was what like this?"

"When Jack brought you into the lie about who 'killed' Mom. When you agreed to lie to me about it too, because you didn't trust me with the truth."

"You said you understood."

"The question is, do you?"

"I hated Dad for making me lie to you. But he's the one who swears by keeping secrets, and this is definitely the time to keep a secret from him for a change."

Nadia wasn't convinced, but remembering the lies Jack had told her before had strengthened her resolve. It couldn't be unfair to play the game by Jack's own rules, in which secrecy – and loyalty to Sydney – came first. "I won't tell Jack. I promise."

Sydney had clearly expected more of a fight, but she had the good sense not to press the issue. "Okay. Let's go."

**

_Then_

 

Casablanca, Morocco

 

"You say that the shipment is ready," Jack said, laying on the French accent as thick as butter. "But it is not. How are we not to take offense at such rudeness?"

"Calm yourself, Jacques." Sloane's accent was more subtle, befitting his role in this scenario.

"I will not calm myself. Not while we are denied the guns we have paid for!"

The word "guns," as intended, made their hosts extremely nervous. Quickly they made excuses, poured more thick, grainy coffee from a samovar and took turns walking into the corner of the small club to bark into their cell phones, demanding updates that did not arrive. Jack and Sloane continued their work, pretending to be French arms merchants who had been doing business in North Africa for decades. What their hosts did not know was that these particular arms merchants had been apprehended by the CIA last month. What they did know was that two distinguished men in their 50s had shown up with the right code words, the right contacts and very, very short tempers.

"No more coffee for you," Sloane insisted, still perfectly in character. In Jack's opinion, the man looked ridiculous in a white linen suit and a red fez; of course, he was wearing the same thing and suspected he looked even more bizarre. Like a pair of deranged Shriners, the two of them. "You are too tense, my friend."

"Tense? Of course I am tense! I think I am being robbed and cheated, it makes me tense."

"Bring Monsieur some wine." Sloane snapped his fingers imperiously. "It will soothe him."

Jack did not like to drink very much on missions, but Sloane had just made it impossible to avoid. Annoyed, Jack channeled his frustration into a hard glare at their main contact, who was breaking out in a sweat. The palm-bladed fan above them was keeping Jack cool thus far, that and his confidence that Sydney and Nadia were waiting to catch the transport as soon as it took the shortcut they'd predicted.

This was the first time he'd had to spend much time with both Nadia and Sloane since the affair with Nadia had begun in earnest six weeks earlier. Keeping his composure in the office wasn't difficult, and fortunately, Nadia was controlled and self-possessed beyond her years. Jack did not worry about Sloane catching on from any slips at APO: there would be none.

Missions were different. Missions required them to assume disguises – the disguises that so often revealed the inner self in unexpected ways. And already Jack had begun to associate strange hotel rooms with lovemaking and Nadia.

Despite the maddening nearness of her, Jack thought he'd given nothing away so far. Nadia was doing well too. If they could just get through this, Jack thought, they would be clear for the foreseeable future. Sloane so rarely went into the field.

Still, it was difficult to shake the sensation that Sloane's eyes were on them every second, weighing, judging – perhaps guessing. Jack could feel the risk, as near and oppressive as the desert heat.

When the wine arrived, Sloane poured for both of them, then slipped on his sunglasses. Red mirrored lenses flashed in the club's murky atmosphere; it was as though they were part of the jeweled mosaics on the wall. "I will distract you from your impatience. I will tell you a story."

"I'm sick of your stories, Armand."

"You will like this one. It is about a beautiful woman."

Jack thought of Nadia as she had looked that morning, black robes whipping around her in the wind, a golden band across her forehead. They had said nothing to each other – almost nothing – surely there had been no slip that Sloane would notice. Surely.

"There was a man who found this woman very beautiful indeed, but he knew he should not have her. Because she was important to another man – one who guarded her closely, as she was his most priceless possession. All that gave his life meaning."

Shit. Sloane knew. No telling how long he'd known. Since the affair began? This little scene had certainly been planned and rehearsed, and Jack wasn't sure it ended with him alive.

"But beauty is as terrible as it is wonderful. Don't you agree, Jacques? Like any other kind of power, beauty can corrupt a man. It can make him forget what is right. It can make him forget what his duty is. It can even make him forget his best friend."

Jack's gun was holstered against his side. He knew he could get to it in time to take Sloane out, assuming that Sloane hadn't suborned any of the gunrunners in the room to serve as Jack's assassin. That was a big assumption. In Sloane's place, Jack would've made damn sure of backup.

"Betrayal burns deep," Sloane said. "It leaves scars on both the betrayer and the betrayed. Nothing can ever make those scars go away, and only two things can ease the pain – forgiveness or revenge."

Head shot. No questions, no negotiation. Probably Sloane's chosen assassin would still take Jack out, but at least Jack could take Sloane down to hell with him. At least Sydney would say he got that part right. And Nadia –

-poor Nadia would at least have Sydney to help her through it. Sydney would never guess the truth, and God knew he had other reasons to fire a bullet into Arvin Sloane's skull.

"Now we have to decide what kind of story this story is to be." Sloane removed the red-mirrored sunglasses; his eyes were rheumy and – astonishingly - unsure. "Shall I tell a story of revenge, Jacques? Or a story of forgiveness?"

Sloane hadn't been talking about Jack and Nadia at all. He had been talking about himself and Irina.

Jack's first impulse was to laugh, but there was literally no one on the earth with whom he could ever share the joke. His second was to punch Sloane in the face for blaming all of this on Irina's beauty; stunning though she had been, Irina's power had not been rooted in her looks, and Sloane of all men ought to know better. But punching Sloane would break cover, and Jack didn't intend to do that with Sydney and Nadia in the field.

He said only, "Your story ended before it began, Armand. What does it matter what kind of story it is, when the woman is dead?"

_"You broke my heart." _

"I won't do it again."

"Good to know."

Jack closes his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, Sloane was smiling. "You are a man who knows what's important."

"Yes, I am."

That night, after the mission had been completed and they'd all gone to their separate quarters, long after Jack figured everyone else to be asleep, he slipped into Nadia's room. He awakened her by pulling the covers away from her body and towing her physically from the bed. Before she could even speak, almost before she was fully awake, Jack had tugged her T-shirt off.

"Jack?" Her dark eyes were wide as she stared up at him. "Dad and Sydney – their rooms -- it's dangerous."

"I don't care." He pushed her shoulders down, and she sank to her knees.

Within seconds she had him in her mouth, sucking hard, letting him hold her head and rock her in the tempo that he wanted. Jack took it slow; he wanted to last a long time.

His desire for Nadia wasn't only about getting back at Sloane. But if Jack could only choose between a story of revenge and a story of forgiveness, when it came to Sloane, he'd choose revenge every time.

 

**

_Now _

 

"Sir, you can't bring that thing."

The guard gave Jack what he evidently thought was a threatening stare. Jack decided to show him what a threatening stare looked like. "I was told that there was a 20-pound weight requirement. My items meet those parameters."

"But that's a cat."

"An astute observation. If you want to walk to the scales, we can confirm that the cat weighs considerably less than 20 pounds."

"I don't know, sir." Already the guard was less certain, wilting under the heat of Jack's glare. Standing next to the nearby bus, Rachel Gibson stood with a duffel bag over one shoulder and a smile on her face. "The regulations don't say anything about animals."

"Exactly. The regulations don't forbid animals. Therefore I can take one to Station 16."

"Food is going to be rationed there. We don't have food to spare on people's pets."

"Cats are entirely capable of fending for themselves." Jack thought fondly of the small dead mice he periodically found on the windowsill. He lifted Maxine's carrier, as a visual aid for the discussion. "They kill rodents, insects and other vermin that can infest grain and carry disease. If you're genuinely concerned about the stations' food supply, officer, I suggest you prove it."

The guard stared at Jack, blinking, for a long second before he finally gestured toward the bus. Once Jack reached the door, Rachel muttered, "I think that guy is still trying to figure out when he lost control of the conversation."

"He never had it." Jack and Rachel watched the scene together in silence for a few moments. Only CIA and other intelligence personnel were being evacuated, together with their families – not even 300 people. Marshall and his family had traveled ahead with the equipment yesterday; in the dead of night, Dixon had led the team transporting the DSR's stash of Rambaldi artifacts. This last step was the complicated one, the one that involved the human element. All around them were crying children, small bags and boxes full to bursting, and a small fleet of buses – some luxurious, some apparently school buses long abandoned by even impoverished schools. At any other time, the families would undoubtedly have been protesting the forced move. However, after two months of watching Los Angeles disintegrate, most of these people

As Jack tried to determine how to get Sydney and Isabelle on one of the air-conditioned buses, Rachel said, "Where's the Vaughn family? And – um, and Nadia? Is she riding with you?"

Rachel was the first person who had openly acknowledged the relationship between Jack and Nadia. "Vaughn's on his way with Isabelle. Sydney and Nadia said they wanted to check on a friend of Sydney's. They'll be here shortly."

"Weird day to run an errand. Then again, all of this is weird."

Jack found it strange that Sydney would want to check in on Amy Tippin after all these years, stranger still that she would choose this time to do it, and strangest of all that Nadia would go along to talk to a woman she never knew. Then again, Sydney would be struggling with the break from her Los Angeles life, and she still felt a powerful sense of obligation to Will. Nadia might have offered moral support as a way of repairing their relationship. That made sense. Didn't it?

He simply repeated, "They'll be here shortly."

 

**

 

"I used to bitch about the traffic in L.A." Nadia was doing 90 on a residential street, not terribly far from where she and Sydney had once lived together on the beach. With few other cars on the road, and cops busy trying to fend off riots and mass disorder, the only speed limit was her car's capability. "Now I kind of miss it. This entire city is like a ghost town."

"God, don't remind me." Both of Sydney's hands were on the dashboard, as though she were bracing herself. In the distance, Nadia could see thick smoke rising from – Silverlake, maybe. These days, with emergency resources stretched to the limit, fires sometimes raged for hours before they were extinguished. "We're almost there. We have to hurry."

"They're not going to leave without us. That's the only good thing about being in Rambaldi's prophecies. The CIA thinks we're important."

"But we need time to initiate contact before we go back. If we take too long, they'll know something's up."

"Why are you so sure the comm unit is going to be there this time? We've checked every single day since we made the initial drop, and nothing. Mom's source might not even be in Los Angeles anymore."

"It'll be there." Sydney narrowed her eyes as she stared down the street toward their goal. "It's our last chance. Besides, Mom always goes for the dramatic entrance."

 

**

"Shhhhh." Jack patted Isabelle's back as she wailed against his shoulder. Vaughn, looking frazzled, checked in his family's supplies; he and Sydney had brought almost nothing of their own, reserving every pound for Isabelle's blankets and toys. "Shhhh. Your father will be back soon."

She only cried harder. This was her nap time, and she wanted to be at home in her crib, not on a flat asphalt parking lot in the blinding sun. Isabelle's tiny body was already warm to the point of overheating; Jack edged into the slim band of shade the bus offered and kissed the baby's sweaty forehead.

Rachel came toward them, holding a small bottle she'd retrieved from Vaughn's things. "This looks like a job for nice, cool apple juice."

At that moment, Jack's cell phone began to ring. So few calls got through anymore that the sound was genuinely startling. He handed Isabelle over to Rachel with a grateful nod and tugged the phone from his pocket. "Hello?"

"Hello, Jack. You made it. I'm relieved."

Sloane. Jack wanted to throw the phone to the ground and grind it to shards with his heel, but he couldn't afford to waste the opportunity. "What do you want?"

He expected to hear self-justifications, condemnation, a wry joke or two. Instead, Sloane said, "You must get everyone out of Los Angeles immediately."

"Everyone?" Jack gestured to Rachel to summon – somebody, anybody. "The entire city?"

"I meant Nadia, Sydney, Isabelle. I wouldn't hold you responsible for the rest, Jack. it's larger than any human responsibility."

"What are you talking about? What have you done?"

"It's not my doing. It's what Rambaldi prophesied. We only grasped what he meant after we found – never mind. You wouldn't understand. Just get them out now."

Once Jack gave the order, the buses could be ready to roll in minutes. Citywide alerts (for what?) would have to be called into the police force and National Guard; maybe the operational radio stations could tell people to evacuate, too. But evacuate where? "As usual, your warnings are so vague that they're useless."

"They aren't useless if you get Sydney and Nadia to safety immediately. If you understand nothing else about me, Jack, you know that I care about our daughters."

"I know that you left Nadia for dead and shot me in front of Sydney's eyes."

"I love Sydney and Nadia more than you can ever comprehend."

"So do I. Which is why you're never going to talk to them again." Jack was stalling now. Rachel was hastily attempting to rig up a trace on the call, but with half the nation's communications grid down, she had little chance.

"You claim to love Nadia?"

The question caught Jack up short. "Yes."

"Every time I've compared my love for Sydney to yours, you've looked at me like you wanted to strike me down where I stood. Do you understand me at last? I'd hate to think I'd caught you in hypocrisy, Jack. No matter what else you were, you never stooped to that level."

"We are long past the point when you get to make moral judgments on me or anyone."

Sloane wouldn't let it go. "If Sydney was entirely yours, Jack – if that was true – then can't you at least admit that Nadia is mine? Mine to love and to protect?"

Something terrible was about to happen to Los Angeles, Sydney was missing, Nadia was missing, Irina had betrayed them all, the sun was beating down, the new scars in his chest ached, Maxine was yowling in her crate and poor Isabelle was still crying. Something in Jack snapped.

Very quietly, he said, "You told me a story once about a beautiful woman. You said that she could make a man forget his best friend. Make him do anything."

"What are you –"

"Nadia is a very beautiful woman." Jack snapped the phone shut.

Rachel swore beneath her breath. "No trace."

"It doesn't matter. We have to get everyone out, now." Vaughn was already trying to figure out how to simultaneously run to help and take care of Isabelle. His chest aching too badly to run, Jack took the baby back. "Get them to load the buses and tell the National Guard to evacuate."

Vaughn asked, "Evacuate where?"

"No help there. We'll head in the direction we were already going. I'll try to get through to the radio stations. Where the hell are Sydney and Nadia?"

"I don't know," Vaughn said. "I swear I'm gonna kill Syd for this."

Jack was dangerously close to agreeing with him. He settled Isabelle in one arm and started dialing the phone. Then he felt it.

His eyes opened wide as the ground began to shake.

 

**

Nadia stumbled into Sydney as the earthquake began. They each made it to the backyard tree and braced themselves for the few seconds it took for the temblors to stop.

When they were done, Nadia glanced over at her sister. "Three-point-five?"

"Barely even a three-oh." Sydney brushed the bark off her hands. "You grow up in Los Angeles, you can measure the Richter scale in your bones."

Nadia started to protest that she was getting better, then remembered that she wouldn't remain an LA resident for long.

They walked toward the far corner of the backyard. A couple of car alarms howled in protest of the quake, but not many; most people didn't bother with car alarms any more, not after so many automobiles had been vandalized and burned. Nadia glanced back at the house a few times, but once again, nobody appeared in the window or at the door to protest the intrusion. On one sill, a yellowing fern drooped. Apparently the owners had fled weeks ago. Smart people.

On their first trip here, they had buried the data Irina wanted – a digital video recording of Nadia, alive and well, requesting a meet or at least contact between mother and daughters. Sydney had activated a signal "beacon," and they'd taken off. In the five visits they'd paid since, they had returned to the same corner, dug up the same bit of earth and removed the canister to find only the same video, the same beacon. So Nadia felt no great hope as they dug in the sun-warmed ground, getting dirt beneath their nails. Same old canister, same old hole.

At least, until Sydney twisted it open, and a comm unit fell out.

"Shit." Sydney stared down at the satellite phone, lying there in the grass. "She got the tape. She still wants the meet."

Nadia could only think that, somewhere, her mother was looking at her face on the video. She wondered what Irina saw there.

**

"We shouldn't panic people because of some piss-ant quake," the guard argued.

"We can't be sure that the quake is the end of it." Jack studied the buses, one by one; they were loaded now, stuffed to the brim with unhappy, shouting people, but ready to go almost an hour earlier than scheduled. At Vaughn's insistence, Rachel had already taken Isabelle (and Maxine) onto the nearest bus. They were ready to go – except for Sydney and Nadia. None of their calls had gotten through to them. "Vaughn, are you positive that you have no idea where they are?"

"For the last time, I'm telling you the truth. I don't know. I can't imagine, either."

"I'll need a GPS tracking device. Full-strength. Did Marshall take them all?"

The guard shook his head. "Nah, we got something – hang on." He jogged off to get it.

Vaughn stared at Jack, puzzled. "What good is a GPS tracker going to do? We don't know for sure that either Sydney or Nadia has one on her."

"I implanted a small device in the back of Nadia's neck during her coma."

"What? Jack, that's – unconscionable, to do that to – well, to anyone. Much less to a woman you --"

"I haven't used it before now. It was an emergency measure only." Jack tried to remember the exact signature of Nadia's device – yes, he had it.

"Still, it goes against every policy we have to insert a device in someone without their consent. "Did you put one of those things in Sydney? Does Isabelle have one?" Realization set in. "Wait, do I?"

"Welcome to the family." Jack held out his hand as the guard returned, but the guard was gesturing him to come forward.

"Agent Bristow! We got a satcom call for you!"

"Is it Oracle?" Jack and Vaughn both began running toward the communications van.

"Nossir, it's from the road. It's Merlin."

For God's sake. Jack got in the van, slammed the door shut behind him and grabbed the heavy satcom unit from the operator. "Merlin, this is hardly the time –"

"Raptor, you gotta listen to me. This is bad. This is eighteen kinds of bad."

"Have you been raided?"

"What? No, no, we're fine, it's you guys! Sensors picked up an earthquake –"

"It was a minor quake. Not even property damage."

"Sir, it wasn't a minor quake. It wasn't on the San Andreas fault. It was miles and miles farther out, well into the Pacific. No fault lines out there, so I'm guessing an underwater volcanic event – wandering. Focusing. Raptor, what you guys felt was just the edge of a major, major quake centered underwater."

Jack realized what Marshall was getting at, and for the first time all day, his frustration was completely eclipsed by fear. "A tidal wave. You're talking about a tidal wave."

"Tsunami is the preferred term these days. Whatever you want to call it, it's headed straight for the Southern California coastline in about – 20 minutes. Which means you guys have to get the heck out of Dodge _now_."


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

 

Now

 

"If Sydney and Nadia are anywhere near the coast when that thing hits – " Vaughn swore.

Jack thrust the satcom unit at one of the guards, who would take care of the necessary alerts. His gut felt like it was sinking. So few homes had regular electricity these days; even if they got warnings issued in time, most people near the coast wouldn't hear them. They would sound alarms, but the alarms went off so frequently now that nobody would understand what the sirens warned against – if they even noticed. No matter what Jack did, the loss of life would be enormous. All he could do was make sure that Sydney and Nadia weren't among the dead.

"Where's my trace?" he barked at the nearby tech, who was typing furiously.

"It's coming – coming – okay, I have coordinates."

Jack and Vaughn both leaned forward, reading the bad news. For whatever ungodly reason, Nadia seemed to be in Marina del Rey, the general area of Sydney's apartment building; her sister was with her. Sydney's balcony had a very good view of the ocean.

"We're going now," Jack said. "The convoy has to leave immediately. As soon as the warning is broadcast, the situation on the roads is going to get a lot more volatile. Vaughn, we're taking my car to the Army base – Vaughn?

Instead of falling into step beside Jack, Vaughn was staring back at the bus, his entire body tense. Jack realized that Vaughn was torn in two – urged forward by his fear for Sydney, but held in place by his concern for Isabelle, who was about to be hauled thousands of miles away without either of her parents. The three weeks it had taken them to get home after Mongolia had been fraught with worry for the baby, and it looked like that situation was about to repeat itself. Jack immediately decided that was unacceptable.

"Get on the bus," he said to Vaughn. "Send Rachel out. I need someone with me, and she can handle it."

Vaughn didn't move. "The best thing I can do for Isabelle is save her mother."

"No. The best thing you can do for Isabelle is make sure she has a parent to take care of her."

To Jack's surprise, Vaughn gave him a strange, tight smile. "I know you'd never come back without Sydney," he said. "Otherwise I couldn't go."

It was the kindest thing Vaughn had ever said to Jack, but this wasn't the best moment for family bonding. "Send Rachel out," he repeated. Vaughn ran to the bus without looking back. Jack approved of Vaughn's ability to prioritize. At a moment like this, a father's place was with his daughter.

**

"We only have another hour." Nadia forced herself not to look down at her watch again. She could feel it around her wrist, tight, as though it were measuring her pulse. "Syd, can't this wait?"

"You said so yourself: They won't leave us. And even if they did, we have a car and we know where they're headed."

"You know we can't take our cars, we can't take anything that isn't checked out."

Sydney snapped her gaze from the satphone to Nadia, her eyes hard. "You aren't worried about making it in time for our departure. You don't want to talk to Mom."

Nadia couldn't answer at first. "That's not all of it."

"But it's some of it. If this is because of – you and – you know, I don't care why you don't want to talk to Mom. But we have to do this, and we have to do it now." Her sharp-cornered jaw was set, and she gripped the satphone tightly in her hand. "There's no guarantee we can get this thing on the bus. They're weighing every item, looking in every bag. If they find this phone and figure out what it's for, we're collaborating with the enemy. Even with Dad and Director Chase negotiating for us, we'd have a hell of a time getting out of that one. So that's why we have to do this now."

"Okay. Okay. I just need a second." Nadia breathed in deeply, then out again. "What happens if we don't reach her today? Even satphones don't work all the time now."

Sydney shrugged. "Then we get the satphone on the bus. I don't care if I have to shove it down Isabelle's diaper." For the first time in months, a glimmer of humor flickered in her eyes. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Dial. I'll be right here."

"She's going to want to talk to you."

"I'll talk to her. But right now I need – just dial, okay? I'll be there when you need me."

Don't be stupid, Nadia thought as she went quickly to the balcony door and tugged it open so she could feel some fresh air on her face._ How could Mom know? She didn't guess before Sevogda, so it's hardly likely she'd have caught on by now. Besides, you didn't do anything wrong. _

No, that part was a lie. Nadia knew that, despite the love she and Jack had come to feel for each other, in pursuing him she'd done something very wrong. It revealed too much about her, too much that she would never want her mother to see. And it was impossible to think that Irina would be understanding when Nadia wasn't sure she understood it herself.

She tried to clear her thoughts and get ready by looking toward the ocean – but where water should have sparkled, there was only a vast expanse of wet sand. The water was still visible, but only at a great distance. The tide had rushed out, far past low tide. But why?

Could Rambaldi's strange influence on the world even control that?

Then Nadia remembered the quake and gasped.

**

"The gate is – Mr. Bristow – slow down!"

"Just hang on."

Rachel braced herself as he swerved off the road and drove over the concrete median, avoiding the closed security gate altogether. Beneath him he heard metal screech and tear, but it didn't matter; neither he nor anyone else would ever drive this jeep again. Jack was betting that the base's staff would have already been summoned to deal with the impending crisis; if not, he had his ID, and if that wasn't persuasive, he had his gun.

"This might be a good time to tell me the plan," Rachel said. "Assuming we have a plan."

"If you aren't committed to this, Oracle, tell me now."

"Don't ever question my commitment again." She'd never spoken to him in that tone of voice before. "Sloane's the reason Tom died. If I have anything to do with it, nobody else is ever going to have to die for Sloane's big dreams, much less two of my friends."

"Understood."

"So now can you tell me what the hell's going on?"

"We're going to get Sydney and Nadia. You'll assist them if they need it." Jack steered them further into the apparently deserted base. They went past several jet aircraft, jeeps and other vehicles until they found what he sought, a Chinook transport helicopter at the ready, and slammed on the brake. "I'll drive."

**

"Sydney –"

"Wait!" Sydney held up one hand as the satphone squawked, indicating a incoming signal. Then a flat, machine-generated voice began to dictate numbers that Nadia thought might be coordinates.

They could memorize the coordinates, and it would only take a moment, so Nadia said nothing – until suddenly the horizon over the ocean rose, and kept on rising, as though the world were rising up to fight the sky.

**

Jack hadn't flown a Chinook since some anti-Sandinista operations in Nicaragua during the mid-'80s, but the army still used model CH-47D, which meant he still knew what to do. He ought to have had a copilot and flight engineer with him, but instead, in the seat next to him, he had Rachel in her hot pink T-shirt, steadying herself with her feet against the window as she yanked her hair into a ponytail.

The last time he'd flown a helicopter, Sloane had been the one riding shotgun. Jack wondered how he could simultaneously be so angry with the man and somehow feel as though he should be here to help.

While he was glancing sideways at Rachel, she was looking forward. So she saw it first. Her face blanched. "Oh, my God."

The tidal wave didn't look like a wave – it looked like the ocean itself had simply swelled, so that it towered over the shore it was fast approaching. How tall was that thing? Seventy feet? Eighty? It would hit the coastline like a bomb, shattering every structure in its path.

Jack couldn't visualize any of that. He could only think of Sydney and Nadia's faces.

**

"I'm going! Stop yelling at me to go!"

Tires screeched as Sydney drove them away from the shoreline. Nadia sat facing backward, her knees on the seat, as though it would do her any good to see the disaster coming. She opened her mouth to tell Sydney to go again, then bit her tongue.

_We'll make it. We're going to make it. If we can get to the highway we can go west and get to safety in no time. We're already in Culver City, so we have to be close. _

Then she heard the roar.

It was like thunder, but worse than thunder, and bigger than any other sound she'd ever heard. "Oh, God."

Sydney yelled, "Turn around and put on your seat belt."

"How is that going to help?"

"Do it!"

Nadia turned and grabbed the seat belt just as Sydney swerved violently off the street, onto the curb. Swearing in Spanish, Nadia snapped the buckle into place only a second before they smashed through the plate-glass lobby of a high-rise. The car spun, and Nadia bashed the side of her head into the window so hard she could smell blood. Shattered glass sprayed everywhere, all around them, a silver shimmer above the approaching roar.

As soon as the car had stopped, Nadia pulled herself free of her seat belt, wrenched the car door open and started running. Within a second, Sydney was at her side, and the red EXIT sign was ahead. Where there was an exit, there was usually a stairwell.

"You okay?" Sydney gasped, as they slammed through the door and started running upstairs, taking them two at a time. A cut along her cheekbone dripped blood.

"I can run."

They said nothing else, just ran as hard as they could, up two flights, three –

The roar got louder, and then the whole world screamed. Nadia felt the floor jerk itself from beneath her, as the building itself shuddered violently in the onslaught. Sydney staggered toward the rail and nearly fell over, but Nadia grabbed her arm. Cinderblocks shifted, making the walls jagged and clouding the air with paint flakes and plaster. Every metal beam was making a horrible sound Nadia seemed to remember, but from where? Where?

"Go!" Sydney took off, and Nadia followed her even before she heard the water.

As they kept running, floor after floor, Nadia only dared to look down once. The stairwell was filling with water that churned as violently as a washing machine, gray with silt and thick with debris and rising fast. How far could it rise? Surely not to the top of the building, but if they didn't stay ahead of the waves – or if the trembling building gave way to the stress and weight – that wouldn't do them a damn bit of good.

Finally they made it to the roof, some twenty stories up. Panting hard, Nadia staggered out into the sunlight – and ducked just in time to avoid getting hit by a fire extinguisher.

"Get out!" yelled a man in his 40s wearing a rumpled business suit. Around him stood a couple dozen others, mostly in work clothes. None of them looked welcoming. "This is our bank! Our building!"

"Calm down." Nadia held out her hands. "We're okay. There's plenty of room."

"Get out!" he shouted again. Panic had gripped him past reason.

Nadia's first impulse was to speak gently to him, but apparently Sydney had other ideas. Sydney reached into the back of her belt and pulled out her gun. The others on the roof screamed, and the man dropped the fire extinguisher, making Nadia flinch – but it didn't blow. "Listen to me," Sydney said, voice hard. "We're all waiting this out together. We can be friendly or we can be unfriendly. I'd rather be friendly. How about you?"

Nobody spoke. That would count as a yes.

All around them was the roar and rush of water, and Nadia walked to the edge of the building; the structure vibrated beneath them, but it seemed to be holding so far. About eight stories beneath them raged the flood; the surface of the water was so cluttered that it almost seemed not to be water at all but a writhing sea of junk. Items surfaced and sank, hurled up and down by the current so quickly that Nadia could barely recognize them before they were gone: a car, a lawn chair, an uprooted tree, a mailbox, a person. The turmoil raged all around them, as far as Nadia could see, with only a few high-rise islands in this terrible new sea.

The sound – the water, the screaming, the shrieking of abused metal – where did Nadia know that from?

_Pain at the core of her, pain all that was left of her, the world blood-colored and her mind not her own. Jack holding her in his arms as they ran downstairs, water crashing behind them, Mom and Dad and Sydney and Vaughn all around her but no salvation, no rescue, only Rambaldi's sleep. _

Nadia had never remembered that before.

As she watched, one of the nearby buildings shuddered, then suddenly fell in on itself, crumpling as quickly as a house of cards. Nadia covered her mouth with her hands as the few people who had taken refuge on its roof fell flailing into the waves. Slabs of concrete and metal beams thick as redwoods were tossed up in the water like Styrofoam and matchsticks, swirling toward them –

The rooftop quaked. Vibration rocked Nadia to the bones, and as she stared, horrified, the concrete beneath her feet began to crack.

**

"I'm getting a lock." Rachel's voice was thick with tears, but she kept at the GPS tracking unit, trying to zero in exactly on Nadia's position. Jack resolutely refused to look at the disaster below them. It was the only way to remain steady. "We're close."

"She's stationary?"

"Yes. One location. About 500 yards east, I think."

One steady location meant that Nadia had not been swept into the waters. They had no time to recalibrate and search for Sydney, but Jack had to believe that they were together. "Get to the door."

"Agent Bristow – we can get lots of people onto this thing –"

"The Chinook can carry thirty-six people total. You and I make two. Sydney and Nadia will make four. We'll pick up thirty-two others. No more. No matter what. Are we clear?"

"Got it."

Within seconds Jack began to see them – the buildings, each with small huddled groups of people. At the sight of the helicopter, they all began to leap up and down wildly, waving their arms. Resolutely he reminded himself that these people were the lucky ones, safe for the moment and with a decent chance to remain that way. They might wait a long time for rescue, but they would probably survive. He only had to focus on Sydney and Nadia.

The GPS tracker began chiming insistently. They were close, so close. A gust of wind swept through the copter, ruffling his hair, and Jack knew that Rachel had managed to get the back door open. As soon as he found them –

There. He would have recognized Sydney's firing stance anywhere. She stood on the top of a building, holding several people at bay with her weapon. On the rooftop's edge was Nadia, and the sunlight was glinting off the golden barrette he'd watched her clip on that morning. Jack sighed with relief – then realized that the building was shaking so badly that everyone was struggling to maintain balance.

The building was going to collapse. They only had a few minutes left.

**

"Down here!" Nadia waved her arms in the air, not expecting much luck; the helicopter hadn't stopped for any of the other rooftops. But then it dipped lower and wheeled around, preparing for a landing, and to her surprise and relief, she saw Rachel Gibson braced in the doorway, her ponytail whipping in the breeze. "Sydney! It's our ride!"

"Your ride?" one of the bank workers shouted. "This isn't just about you!"

"You'd be surprised," Sydney muttered.

As the Chinook came closer, Nadia recognized Jack in the pilot's seat. She shook her head and screamed, "Don't land! Don't land!"

"What are you doing?" yelled the man who'd brandished the fire extinguisher. "Why are you telling him not to land?"

Almost as if in reply, the cracks in the concrete widened, and people began to scream. Any extra weight could fracture the roof and leave them all tumbling down to drown.

Either Jack understood her warning, or he'd thought ahead. The helicopter hovered just a couple feet shy of the roof, and Nadia ran toward it. Rachel called, "How many?"

"Twenty-six."

"Everybody aboard," Rachel shouted. "Move!"

Nadia hopped in first, Rachel's hand at her elbow steadying her. On trembling legs, she made her way to the cockpit. Jack did not turn around, but he raised one hand. Nadia laid her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I want to know what you two were doing."

"Sentimental fool." Nadia kissed his cheek and went back to help Rachel.

The bank's employees took their seats against the wall as Nadia and Rachel guided them in place. No longer gripped by terror, they were realizing what had just happened – to their homes, their friends, their families – and slipping into shock, or tears. Nadia had to clip seat belts around some of them, who didn't seem to notice her. Sydney got on board last, tucking her gun back into her belt as she went toward her father. Nadia turned her head to see Sydney hug him tightly from the side, and Jack kissing her on the forehead.

_They're getting past it,_ Nadia thought. _ All it took was the apocalypse. _

**

Then

Sevogda, Russia

 

"Is she going to live?" Sydney whispered.

"I don't know," Vaughn said. Sloane covered his face with his hands. Next to Jack, Irina sighed shakily, and he put his arm around her shoulders. Was he comforting her or himself?

Nadia lay in the center of their sad circle, her gut dark with blood and her half-shut eyes almost as red. She sprawled where Jack had settled her moments before, just after their mad dash to escape the cascading waters of the collapsed Mueller Device.

They'd destroyed Rambaldi's invention. Irina had fought by his side, and in the end, Sloane had sacrificed his own daughter for Sydney's safety and proved his loyalty. Sydney was safe. Elena Derevko was dead. This should have felt like the greatest victory of Jack's life. Instead he felt old and hollowed-out as he stared down at Nadia's inert form.

It had been over between them, undoubtedly forever. To judge by the last private conversation he and Nadia had ever shared, she would have hated him for the rest of her life. But Jack wanted her alive to hate him. He wanted her alive to reveal his secrets and wreck his life, if that was the cost. Nadia's life couldn't end here, like this; it was unthinkable.

"I hardly knew her," Irina whispered. "Three days. One when she was born, and two when you found me. Only three days of my little girl's life."

"She's not dead yet. We can't give up."

Irina put her arms around him, and Jack hugged her tightly. Her hair smelled of ash. Sloane quietly started to weep.

They called for the MedEvac team and got Nadia as comfortable as she was likely to be. Jack weighed the potential benefits of bringing Irina back into custody as he'd promised versus those of setting her free as he'd planned. He liked the idea of Irina in one known location, disarmed except for her rapier mind, able to talk to Sydney whenever their daughter needed her. But he also remembered what he had tried to do to Irina, and how deeply it had scarred Sydney – and Nadia.

_Nadia would have wanted her mother to be free. She wouldn't have trusted her keeping to anyone else, least of all me. _

Vaughn radioed again for the MedEvac team, and Irina turned toward Jack, her eyes questioning. He began by warning her. "The chopper should be here any minute."

"We both know how this is supposed to play out. You bring me back to the States, turn me over to your superiors." Her dark eyes revealed no doubts, no hopes, nothing. Jack had once thought he could read her soul in her eyes; then he had doubted Irina possessed a soul. Now he knew only that she kept her secrets close.

He sighed. "On foot, you could reach the border by daybreak."

Irina cocked her head, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "What about the Agency? What would you tell them?"

"Oh, I think they know – nobody can hold on to Irina Derevko for long."

Smiling more broadly, Irina stepped close and kissed Jack softly on the lips. Irina gave no promises, and Jack knew better than to hope for any. They both knew it was their last kiss.

She went then to Sydney. "Take care of your sister."

"I will." Sydney's lower lip trembled.

"Three years ago, when I told you that you were the Chosen One, that only you could take down the greatest evil, I know your mind must have been overwhelmed with confusion. But tonight, you recognize that you've done just that. I'm so proud of you."

Irina leaned forward and kissed Sydney's forehead. Jack saw that his daughter's eyes were already bright with tears. "Thank you," Sydney whispered.

After Irina took a few steps, she stopped and turned around. "Sydney, you may not see me on your wedding day, but I'll see you."

Jack imagined that wedding, maybe walking down an aisle with Sydney on his arm, wondering if he would know that Irina was near.

As Irina walked away, Sydney watched her go. Jack sank down to kneel beside Sloane. Nadia lay before them, her breaths coming fast and shallow.

The only thing Jack could think of to say wasn't exactly helpful, but he said it nonetheless: "How could you ever do it?"

"I asked myself what she would want." Sloane seemed to have aged 10 years in the previous hour. The creases in his face, around his eyes and mouth, were deep, and his gaze was unclear. "Nadia wasn't herself. She would have killed Sydney. I knew that, in her right mind, she would rather die than let that happen. And I knew then that – if I loved my daughter – I had to value what she wanted even more than what I wanted. I had to stop Nadia, even if the cost was her life. Otherwise the cost would have been her soul."

Jack asked himself if he could have done the same to Sydney. He knew that he could not. Yet he knew that he would have been in the wrong, and that in this, at least, Sloane had proved himself the better man.

Quietly, he said, "Thank you for Sydney's life."

Sloane's eyes filled with tears as he took Nadia's hand. Jack wished he could have done the same – if only to tell her goodbye – but he didn't have that freedom or that right.

If she could only live, Sloane's sacrifice would be undone. Irina's pain would know some surcease. Jack could tell her just once how wrong he had been and how sorry he would always be. And Sydney could get her sister back.

From that moment on, Jack refused to believe that Nadia would die. She had to live. Believing in that was easier than believing in a world where Sloane was their savior, and where sacrifices could still be pure.

 

**

_Now_

 

Fort Jeremiah, Missouri

 

"We've received reports of the virus from most countries in Western Europe now, including Great Britain."

In Nadia's ear, Eric muttered, "Like those poor bastards didn't have enough trouble." She held up one hand, shushing him while Jack continued the briefing.

"The virus goes by different colloquial names. Camisazul, Veni Vuota, the Stripe." Behind Jack, a PowerPoint presentation showed them images of people's arms and legs, each deeply shot through with long, thin, purple bruises that outlined their veins. Marshall punched a button, and those images were replaced by a diagram of some complicated molecules. "We only have a limited number of blood samples to work from, so we can't draw any conclusions yet. We know that it's a hemorrhagic fever, and that it's almost certainly manmade. So far as we know, it isn't yet airborne. The pathogens are presumably incubated in Mueller Spheres, though at this time their locations are unknown."

He didn't say that Nadia's parents were responsible for the disease. Every one of the four dozen people huddled in this briefing room already understood that Arvin Sloane and Irina Derevko were the architects of the current crisis. Virtually nobody else in the world did. Various theories blamed terrorists, the U.S. government, Kim Jong-Il, Satan and a vengeful God.

Next to Nadia, Sydney lifted her chin and stared resolutely at her father. Nadia wondered if she felt guilty simply because she was Irina Derevko's daughter. Nadia knew how that felt, times two.

Jack stepped forward as the image behind him changed again to a picture of Rambaldi's sketch for the Mueller Device. At the sight of the man's handwriting, Nadia's fingers twitched. Jack said, "However, we think we may have gained one potential lead on a Mueller Sphere. Hans Brenner, one of Mueller's assistants on the construction of the first known device and a Rambaldi follower, was recently sighted."

"So what are we waiting for?" Sydney stepped forward, as though she wanted to start running that instant.

Quietly, Jack said, "Brenner is reported to be in the London area."

Everyone in the room went still. Nadia felt queasy. The only thing worse than what had happened to London was what had come after.

"We will send a team," Jack continued, "but we'll need the right cover to get past United Kingdom border patrols and to travel through the country. Getting the materials together isn't easy. But we'll get it done." He glanced around the room, taking in the dark mood of the group, then nodded. "Dismissed."

"London," Rachel muttered as they walked out of the briefing room onto Fort Jeremiah's main street – a single road along which were positioned housing, training areas, offices, the PX and commissary and even a forlorn empty pool, its turquoise-blue floor flecked with fallen autumn leaves. "God, I hope I don't have to go on that op. I mean, I'll go if Director Bristow asks me to go. But I don't want to."

"We'll all have to go." Sydney thrust her hands into her pockets. "After everything we've heard – maybe it would be better to see it. Just see it for ourselves. It might not be as bad as it is in our imaginations."

Nadia shook her head. "It's that bad. We all know it."

The silence that followed was leaden – until Eric clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough with the moping. We've been doing too much of that lately. What say we all go back to Syd's, join Vaughn in playing with the bambina? I could use some quality Isabelle time right around now."

Rachel looked hopeful. "I could too, actually."

Sydney nodded, casting a glance from Eric to Nadia. "Sounds good to me. Nadia, are you coming?"

Nadia hesitated, torn. A night with friends would be fun, and this was the first time in months Sydney had asked to socialize with her. But the way Sydney had asked felt as though she were challenging Nadia, asking her to choose between time with her and time with Jack. The challenge was more difficult to negotiate than the choice.

"I'll come by later, maybe," she said.

Sydney didn't say anything, simply shrugged with her hands in her pockets. Then she turned to go. Nadia gave Rachel and Weiss a quick wave and walked off quickly, before she could regret her choice.

She and Jack lived together in the Bachelor Officer's Quarters, located near the center of the base. Although Jack's position in the group meant they could've gotten a bigger place, he thought it was good for morale to be seen doing with less. Nadia could see the sense of that, but she didn't care for low-level military housing: cinderblock walls, linoleum floor, an old metal-framed bed almost too narrow for two, and a kitchenette tucked in one corner of the BOQ efficiency they shared. But it was safe, and warm, and this was where she lived with Jack. That made it home, somehow.

Jack was already there, and the smell of baking potatoes told her he'd started dinner, or what passed for dinner these days. Maxine looked up from her chosen napping spot in the corner, blinked twice, then went back to sleep. Jack sat at the small table, and he looked somewhat surprised to see her. "I thought you were going somewhere with Sydney."

"She asked."

"You didn't go?"

"Something about the way she asked me – never mind. Still, it's a good sign, I guess." Nadia studied him curiously; something was on Jack's mind. "Is anything wrong?"

"Not wrong." Jack remained silent for a few seconds, but she knew that he was turning something over in his mind, trying to figure out just how to handle it. He might speak now, or he might not. Nadia hoped very much that he wasn't about to ask more questions about the "errand" she and Syd had run the day of the tsunami; regardless, she wanted to deal with it soon. The best way to get him to talk was to say nothing. After a little longer, he finally said, "There's something we should discuss."

"All right."

"Before you head into the field again, you need to know that Sloane and Derevko's attitudes toward us may have changed for the worse."

Nadia raised an eyebrow. "The last time I saw Dad, he shot you and left you for dead. The time before that, he left me for dead. How much worse than that can it get?"

"You know from my report that Sloane called to warn us about the tsunami," Jack said. His eyes met Nadia's for a moment. She had told him how confused that call made her feel, pouring her heart out to Jack about her father; it felt strange to realize that, this whole time, he'd been holding back something important. "What you don't know is how I ended the conversation."

"What do you mean?"

"I lost my temper. I didn't think strategically. I – lashed out." After a deep breath, Jack finished, "I informed your father of my relationship with you."

Nadia felt a flush of heat, shock that deepened into humiliation, as though Dad had walked in on her and Jack in the act. Dad knew. He knew. And no doubt he had also told her mother. The two people she had most wanted never to know the truth – much, much more even than Sydney – knew it all now. "You should have talked to me first."

"I realize that." Jack spoke evenly, like a negotiator trying to talk down a lunatic with a gun. It was infuriating to be handled that way. "If I had been thinking clearly, I would have. We ought to have discussed this before."

"Discussed what? How you could taunt my father by telling him you've been screwing me? Did you want me to choose which details to share? Maybe I could pose for photos next time."

"You're not making sense."

She could have strangled him with her bare hands. "When you told him that way, you used me. You used what we are. It's cheap, Jack. It's cheap and it makes me feel like I'm nothing to you except revenge."

"This is partly about revenge, yes. Just as it is for you." Jack stood up, his eyes narrowed. "You're the one who invited me to your father's bed. Or don't you remember that? But – revenge isn't the only reason we're here."

"I know. That makes it worse. You'll even use love as a weapon. I thought that was the way my parents did things. Not you."

"It's how I do things too." His voice was hard. "If you don't think I've used Sydney's love against her, you haven't talked to her enough. And I believe you understand perfectly well that you've used Sloane's love for you. Even Sydney does it, Nadia. None of us is blameless. In this situation, we could hardly do otherwise."

"Don't make this about everybody else, Jack. This is about you. What you needed, what you wanted, what you did. I didn't have any part of it. You didn't let me."

His mouth twitched, the way it did sometimes when he was hurt or surprised but didn't want to show it.

Nadia walked away from him and curled up in a ball on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest; Jack, uncertain, sat back down in his chair and waited for her to talk.

Disturbingly, what Jack had or hadn't done to her didn't matter that much. What cut Nadia was the fact that somewhere, her father was hurting – thinking that she hated him, that she had done this to spite him. Even though she sometimes did hate Arvin Sloane, and sometimes she'd had sex with Jack to spite him, Nadia still could not bear to think of him, alone and mad in his curiosity shop of Rambaldi artifacts, mourning her love. Jack's hot-tempered boast had exposed this weakness in her, and it left Nadia shaken and ashamed.

She took her time before she spoke. It wouldn't hurt Jack to stew a bit in suspense. Finally, she said, "I hate that you used our relationship as a weapon."

"I'm sorry."

Holding up one hand to silence him, Nadia continued, "I hate that it can be used as a weapon. I hate that Sydney still thinks that's all it is. I hate that Mom and Dad probably think that too. Maybe you did use me to get back at them, in the beginning. I know I sometimes did that with you, and not just at the beginning. But we're more than that now."

"I know, sweetheart." He'd never called her that before. "What's done is done. Everyone knows now. I know that I – misused our relationship."

"Do you promise not to do it again?"

"No," he said, surprising her. "But I promise not be tactically stupid about it next time."

Nadia kicked off her shoes and rose from the bed. As she walked toward Jack, she said, "You're lucky I'm still furious."

"Why is that?"

"You know how I fuck when I'm angry."

By the time Nadia had granted forgiveness, the lamp was on the floor, the chair lay on its side, the sheets had been torn from the mattress and fresh scratch marks crisscrossed Jack's back. Nadia's muscles trembled as Jack pulled a blanket over them, to protect them from the drafts in their room.

"There's just one thing I have to know," she murmured.

"Ask."

"Why did you tell me that you'd told my father?"

"It would be naïve to assume that we'll never encounter Sloane or Irina again. When we do, they'll probably confront you. You had to be ready."

"If you had told me just before we went into the field, that would have been your reason. But not for telling me now."

Jack was silent for so long that Nadia thought she might have angered him. She propped up on her elbows to look at him. He'd pillowed his head on the balled-up blankets. "I wanted to tell you the truth." His face changed as he watched her reaction, and he reached up to cup her face in his hand. "Are you crying?"

She shook her head and hugged him tightly.

**

"You want to just -- tell him." Sydney folded her arms as Nadia unscrewed the jar of baby food. "Just tell Dad, by the way, we're going to go see Mom in Siberia next month. We'll send you a postcard."

"He's trying hard to be honest with me. That makes it hard for me to lie to him."

"He was honest with you about selling you out to Sloane. I don't see why you're so impressed by that." Sydney accepted the jar of baby food, their hands cooperating even while they argued. "Then again, I don't guess Dad was completely wrong. You guys wanted to get revenge, you got revenge. They had to find out sometime, or what's the point?"

Nadia wouldn't explain why Sydney was wrong, not now; she had other battles to fight. "If we tell Jack, we might talk him into seeing things our way. It could only help us, having him on our side."

"Dad's been on my side my whole life, and trust me, sometimes it doesn't help."

"We'll have to tell him eventually, Sydney. Think. How are we going to get permits to get into Russia without Jack's assistance?"

"We'll get all the backup we need. The next time you get injected with the Rambaldi fluid, you'll say you had a vision. Us in Siberia, near the Sunset, maybe. Dad will sign the papers before you're done talking."

"That's lying."

"We're already lying."

"No, we're just hiding an unpleasant truth."

Sydney looked away from tying the bib around Isabelle's neck to stare at Nadia. "I guess you and Dad really do have something in common."

"I don't like hiding this from him. That's all."

"I don't like it either." Briskly, Sydney scooped up a mouthful of strained carrots and began feeding Isabelle. "I can't stand it. But you've never had to deal with him when it comes to Mom. You don't realize how he gets."

"You think he hates her too much to see reason."

Sydney paused, the spoon in the jar. There was pity in her eyes. "No. That's not what I think."

She meant, of course, that Jack still loved Irina too much to see reason. Probably Sydney was right.

Nadia walked to the window of Sydney's family-housing apartment so that she could gather her composure. She remembered the few hours she'd spent with her mother; during most of that time she had been dizzy with joy at Irina's resurrection, and she had thought of Jack only to wish her mother had hit him harder. Despite all that, Nadia had not failed to notice that, when Irina was near, they all focused only on her. Sydney, and Nadia, and Jack.

"Mom is my responsibility," Sydney continued. "She's your mother too, but I'm the one who – the one who knows her, who had a chance to deal with her. And she got to me. I took her side, believed in her and got the CIA to do everything she wanted. I let her walk away in Sevogda. I did all of that because I believed that beneath everything else, she was still my mother."

"I don't think one conversation can clarify what Mom's intentions are."

"Just tell them about the vision of Siberia," Sydney said. Behind her, Nadia could hear the sound of the spoon against the glass jar and Isabelle humming happily. "We'll go. We'll talk to Mom. And I'll finally know if there's any chance for –"

"For what?"

"For any of us."

**

_Then _

Los Angeles, California

 

"You know, I'd forgotten how much I like L.A." Irina stood in her glass cell again, and Jack once more was on the opposite side of the wall, trying to understand the woman within. "I try not to let myself miss it, but I do."

"The sunlight? The beaches?"

Her eyes met his. "The company."

How did Irina still have the power to tear him open with a glance, a word? Jack didn't know and couldn't imagine, but he knew better than to deny it.

"I meant what I said earlier," Irina continued. "You're looking well."

"As are you." An understatement – imprisonment had, somehow, only enhanced Irina's beauty. Her chestnut hair hung almost to her elbows, and it shone like burnished wood. Her eyes were bright, her skin smooth. If he had not seen her dirty, sweaty and despairing as Sydney and Nadia brought her back from the Guatemalan rain forest, Jack would have found it impossible to believe she'd spent all that time in jail.

"How have you been, Jack? Working with Sloane – seeing Nadia every day – believing that you'd murdered the mother of your child – it must have been hard."

"Only what I did to you. The rest I could handle."

"Really?" She cocked her head. "I don't think you're being honest with me, Jack."

"Now why would you ever think that?" He smiled, and she smiled back at him, the stealthy, knowing expression that made him feel so vulnerable.

She paced to the far end of her cell, allowing two of her long fingers to trail along the metal shelf that served as her bed. Jack wondered if he could get her a pillow and blanket.

Irina said, "Sydney and Nadia are coming to visit me later. They're coming together. They're made friends, I think."

"Better than friends. They're truly sisters. Sydney accepted Nadia immediately, and it didn't take Nadia long to feel the same way. She's always wanted a family, you know. That – security, that connection, it's important to her."

"You mean Nadia." Irina paused, and her stare was hard. He'd surprised her; he didn't manage that very often. It would have been more gratifying if he hadn't simply been speaking the truth. "You've really gotten to know her, haven't you?

"Yes."

Jack had always had a gift for understatement.

"Tell me about her, Jack. You said she was extraordinary. I thought you meant as an agent, but it's more than that, isn't it?"

Jack put his hands against the glass, weighing his words carefully. He did not want to reveal too much knowledge and in so doing betray his affair with Nadia – for his own sake, partly, and even for Irina's, but mostly for Nadia, who did not need any further complications in her brand-new relationship with her mother. But he wanted to give Nadia's true measure. "She's intelligent. Impulsive, sometimes. It takes a lot to make her angry, but once she is – watch out."

"Now that sounds familiar."

"Nadia's a strong person." Jack imagined her comforting him in the hospital, standing up to her father, smashing through a wall in a red sports car to save his life. "She's more self-aware than Sydney, in a number of ways. Not as grounded, but she knows it. She adjusts. She tries hard. She's been seeing Eric Weiss for a few months now. I don't think they're serious, but he's a good man. He cares about her. I think she's happy."

"Good." Irina closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. "That's all that matters, really."

"It must have killed you. Not knowing where she was."

Her eyes opened. He could not guess her thoughts.

Jack continued, "Just the few months when I knew that Sydney was alive, but not where she was, or how she was doing – it was torture. The fact that I was in prison was irrelevant except for the fact that it kept me from finding her. The only thing that kept me sane was my faith in Sydney. If I couldn't take care of her, I knew she was strong enough to take care of herself. I knew she'd find her way back home. You can't know that about a baby."

"Nadia was so small." Her voice was very quiet. He had never heard her speak that way, not as Irina; Laura had been like this, sometimes, when she was sad. "I wanted to hold on to her when they came to take her away from me, but I couldn't. I was afraid that if I held on to her too tightly, I would hurt her."

"I can't even imagine that."

"Don't imagine it. You'll be happier that way."

"Is that why you worked with Sloane again?" Jack thought he finally understood this part of it, at least. "To get Il Dire and find her?"

"Of course."

"You never considered lying to me. Telling me that Nadia was mine."

"Never. Whether you believe it or not, Jack, there are lines even I won't cross." After a brief pause, she added, "You checked the DNA."

"Yes."

"You hoped."

"Only at first."

"There's one thing I want to make perfectly clear between us," Irina said. She walked toward him and they faced each other just as they had on the first day he'd seen her in 25 years. "I understand why you thought you had to kill me, Jack. I know what Elena's mind games can do. You were trying to protect our daughter, and I respect that."

"It's more than I deserve."

"Yes."

She placed one hand against the glass; after a moment's hesitation, Jack matched her hand with his.

Irina said, "There will never be anything between us again."

"I realize that."

"I think I'll always love you. I think you'll always love me. But it doesn't change anything. It never has, and it never will."

Jack didn't know how he felt about that. It hurt, and it was a relief, and there was no way it could be real, and she had a hell of a lot of nerve assuming he'd ever want to touch her again. He simply nodded. "I gave up the right to expect anything else when I went after you."

Irina shook her head. "We never had a chance to start with. We're past the point of pretending otherwise, don't you think?"

"I guess we are."

As Jack walked out of the cell, the gates sliding upward, he saw Sydney and Nadia walking in, eager to spend the night before the Sevogda op visiting their long-lost mother. Sydney smiled at him brilliantly as they walked by, and she brushed his shoulder with her hand. Nadia refused to look at him.

**

_Now_

London, United Kingdom

 

"You doing okay, Nadia?" Eric asked.

"Yeah."

"That's good. You want to try to calm me down, then? Because I think I'm about to lose it."

Nadia put one hand on Eric's shoulder. He was steering their truck toward the nearest gate into the city. Like her, Eric wore aqua-blue scrubs, heavy boots and a thick utility jacket with a Red Cross symbol emblazoned on the sleeve. Nadia's curly black wig was pulled back in a ponytail that hung almost to her waist; Eric wore a fake mustache. "You're doing fine. Just keep driving, slow and steady."

"Red Cross. We're going in as Red Cross. That's pretty low. I mean, seriously, there's almost nothing spooks won't do, and I know because I am one, but nobody, nowhere, pretends to be Red Cross when they aren't. The North Koreans don't pull that shit."

"Desperate times," Nadia said.

The landscape outside testified to that. This part of London had not fallen prey to the bombs; the fires had done the damage here, raging for days and even weeks after the initial blast. Every storefront and block of flats was charred black, and some of the walls had collapsed. Lumps of metal that had once been cars lined the streets, half-melted. This street had been cleared for medical and supply transit, which meant it was one of the main thoroughfares these days.

"I'm still freaking out," Eric confided. "We have to talk about something. Anything."

"Are you still worried about the radiation?" At this point, their exposure could be safely limited by taking iodine pills, which they'd done. But the terror of radiation sickness didn't necessarily respond to logic.

"Hey, you know what would be a good thing not to talk about? Radiation."

"I'm sorry."

Eric drummed his fingers against the wheel. "Please, for the love of God, distract me."

Nadia took a deep breath and said the most distracting thing she could think of. "When Sydney assigned us to the same ops team, what were the odds that she was hoping we'd hook up again?"

He laughed once, more from surprise than anything else. "I'd say probability approaches one hundred percent."

"Then we agree."

"I'm not gonna do that, you know. Try to interfere with you and Jack."

"I know. You're interested in Rachel Gibson now, I can tell."

"Is it that obvious?"

"It's pretty obvious."

"I am, like, the least subtle guy on the planet. Do you think she knows? Rachel, I mean?"

"I think she knows, and I think she likes the idea."

"Yeah? Yeah." Eric gave Nadia a sidelong look. "That's not what I meant, though. I wouldn't try to get between you and Jack because – I know you must really care about him. There's no way you would've gone there, ever, not if he didn't mean a lot to you."

How little Eric really knew her. Nadia wished, sometimes, that she could be the angelic creature he imagined. "Thanks."

He steered the transport around the corner, toward the security gate. This was the dangerous time, the part where you could get nervous and blow it all before it began. So Eric kept talking. "Does he make you happy?"

"He does his best. These days, it's hard."

"True." They watched the guards interrogate the driver in front of them. "I just hope it works out for you. That's all."

"You sound so skeptical."

"It's, well – Jack – isn't it kinda like kissing Mount Rushmore?"

Nadia started to laugh. If it was disloyal to Jack to enjoy the joke, well, he wasn't the only person on earth she was loyal to. "It's nothing like that."

"I'll take your word for it." The van in front of them was turned away. Eric took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

They pulled up, offered ID badges and papers that identified them as a Red Cross team from Chile, here to provide flu shots and a limited number of emergency rations. All around the city, other APO agents were entering via other gates, each with rations and flu shots to spare: Dixon and Vaughn were claiming to be from South Africa, and Rachel and Sydney were supposedly Icelandic. All the nations were low-profile in the current conflicts and would not raise red flags. Nadia hoped they would be as lucky as she and Eric, who were waved through without more than a cursory inspection.

"I wish we'd brought more food," Eric said as they began to see survivors – rag-clad and pale, their eyes dull as they stared at the incoming truck.

"Yeah, me too."

London was worse than Nadia had imagined. Approximately one-third of the city had been completely destroyed by the missiles and the fires; another third was burned-out like the husk of a neighborhood she and Eric had just driven through. All that was left were neighborhoods like this one, desolate and haunted by ghosts. Most Londoners who'd survived the initial blasts had died of radiation sickness, but thousands hung on, impoverished, depressed, confused and hungry. The government of the United Kingdom, put together from a few ministers who had been traveling at the time of the initial attack, was so paranoiac that they didn't even allow many relief shipments.

Of course, everybody trusted the Red Cross.

"Right this way, ma'am." Nadia smiled reassuringly, refusing to betray her horror at the thinness of the two children that clung to the woman's coat. "We have rations for everyone who gets a flu shot. It doesn't hurt much, and you'll be safe from the flu this winter."

"We don't need a vaccine against the flu," the woman muttered as she rolled up her sleeve. "We need something against the Stripe."

"I wish we had that." Nadia gave the flu shot, which was genuine, and handed the woman her box of food. "We're working on it."

"Work faster, would you?"

Swab, stick, box, go. Over and over, hour after hour. Nadia carefully dropped all the swabs in a small box that would look like a medical waste container, but was not; instead of a simple disinfectant, she was swabbing her patients' arms with a special solution Marshall had devised, one that would essentially perform a blood test on each person. By the time this day's work was done, APO and the CIA would have a comprehensive count of the percentage of people in London already infected with the Stripe. But that was only half of their errand. The other half would be a matter of luck.

About three hours in, their luck turned good.

"Hold on a moment, sir." Eric spoke a little loudly, his accent perhaps too thick, though only Nadia would ever notice. "This syringe – something's gone off with the handle. Let me get a fresh one."

Nadia turned her head to see that Eric's current patient was none other than Hans Brenner. She kept working, watching out of the corner of her eye as Eric administered the injection, one different from any of the others. Brenner was now marked with a GPS tracker.

_You poor stupid bastard,_ she thought. _My parents tricked you into doing their dirty work, and what have you got for it? This shell of a world. _

When all the shots and rations were given out, Nadia gave one of the guards her best smile and persuaded him to let them take a tour of the neighborhoods, so they could report on health conditions. Permission granted, they drove through, dutifully taking notes, but going straight toward Brenner's signal.

"What are the odds that this guy's going to talk to us?" Eric said. "I'm guessing low. Rambaldi followers aren't usually fonts of information."

"Maybe he's not a true believer anymore. After this, I wouldn't be."

The signal proved to be centered in a building that looked as if it had once been a pub. When they walked inside, they saw that perhaps half a dozen families had set up housekeeping inside, creating walls with blankets. A few questions revealed that Brenner made his home in the cellar and did not appreciate interruptions. Too bad for him.

Nadia pushed open the cellar door. Before they'd taken two steps downstairs, she heard it: the low, throbbing hum she remembered too well.

"What is that?" Eric muttered. He would never have heard it before.

"It's a Mueller device. It's active."

Eric swore. "Great time to be unarmed."

"We can bargain with him. He has to want out of London, and we're his only chance. Come on."

They kept going downstairs, a red glow from below painting first their feet, then their bodies, then their faces. A Mueller device only a few feet in diameter rotated quickly in its U-clamp, red surface rippling with small waves. To Nadia's surprise, Brenner sat next to it, watching them impassively.

"You're Derevko's," he said, staring at Nadia. "You think I don't know your face?"

"Mr. Brenner, listen to me." She held out her hands. "We're only here to talk. You might like what we have to say."

"I hid it for her. I hid it for her, and I will carry the secret forever, but that's not good enough. She wants me dead." Brenner held up a gun, and Eric shifted so that he stood in front of Nadia. "Derevko always wins."

Then Brenner pointed the gun to his head and fired. The explosion made Nadia jump, but worse by far was the wet splash against her skin. As she opened her eyes, she realized to her horror that it wasn't blood. It was water.

Brenner lay dead on the floor in a tide that was turning red from his blood. The Mueller sphere had burst, and whatever had been incubating inside it was all over them, sinking into their clothes and their skin.

 

**

_Fort Jeremiah, Missouri_

 

Nadia lay in the isolation room, cold and uncomfortable in her paper gown.

In London, she'd been gripped with paralyzing fear. But they'd had to get home – what else could they do? – and in the subsequent hours, terror had dulled into a kind of unfocused dread. Sleeplessness took the edge off her panic, even if it did make her feel as though she wanted to throw up.

Somewhere, a few feet away, Jack would be waiting to hear how she was. Maybe he would know before she did. If there was bad news, and she was actually infected with the Stripe, they would definitely tell him first. She imagined him telling her the bad news through a glass wall. By then, Nadia was so lonely for a friendly face that even that prospect seemed welcome compared to more hours alone.

A rap on the door startled her. She propped herself up on her elbows as the doctor came in. To her relief, he wasn't wearing protective gear. Nadia whispered, "Am I okay?"

"You weren't infected. Agent Weiss is clear too."

"You're positive. No room for doubt."

"We know a lot more about the Stripe thanks to the samples your teams took in London. We can diagnose it better now, and neither of you has it. Flinkman says the Mueller device had probably just been activated, so Brenner hadn't had time to cook up any virus samples yet. You got lucky."

"Thank God." Nadia flopped back onto the table, weak with relief. "So I'm fine? I can go?"

"Just one more thing." The doctor gave her a strange little smile. "Were you aware that you're pregnant?"


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

 

Now

 

There was no way he could be hearing this.

"Copper IUDs create a slight risk of anemia." Nadia sat on their bed, her back toward the corner and the plastic bracelet from the clinic around her wrist. The small bottle of brandy Jack had bargained for as her coming-home celebration sat, forgotten, on the table. "Internal bleeding, too. Most of the time, it's not a big deal, but for people in a coma, it's dangerous. So it turns out IUD removal is standard procedure for comatose patients. When I was transferred from emergency care to long-term care, somebody didn't make the right notation on my chart, which meant nobody ever told me about the procedure. And here we are."

"They just forgot to write it down. Something that important."

"Do you want to go back to L.A. and see if they survived the tsunami? If so, you could still kill them."

She was joking, but Jack thought it sounded like a good idea.

"I don't know how to feel." Nadia hugged herself. "I don't know what I want."

"You want to have the baby. If you didn't, you would have taken care of this without ever involving me."

She stared at him, her face blanching. Her voice was flat as she answered, "If you understood yourself half as well as you understand everyone else, you might not act like such a son of a bitch."

"I haven't said anything!"

"No, you haven't said anything. Not one word of – of comfort, or understanding, or – " Nadia ran out of breath and swallowed hard. "You're not usually this bad at it, you know. Normally you can at least pretend to feel some normal human emotion."

"You usually don't insist that I perform on command."

"Jack, get away from me before I have to hate you."

Jack went for a walk. It was fairly late at night; everyone was at home, most of them asleep. The late-autumn air was cool enough to be uncomfortable, but he didn't want to go back for his coat.

Another child – it was unthinkable, and not only because that child would also be (good God) Arvin Sloane's grandchild. His objections ran deeper than that. Jack had failed at many things in his life, but his failure as a father was his most enduring shame. He hadn't been there for Sydney; she'd practically had to raise herself. Even before he'd learned of Irina's betrayal, he hadn't been home enough to give Sydney what she needed or deserved.

And he had been a younger man then, a better one – whole. He remembered that first winter, when Sydney hadn't yet turned one year old, and the thick snows they'd had in Virginia. He'd been stateside more often than usual that winter, for in-depth review of his Project Christmas work; it was the only time he'd ever really settled into a family routine. Most mornings, he would get up early, leave Laura asleep, and go to Sydney's room. He'd wrestle her into her tiny pink snowsuit and take her out for a long walk. If he closed his eyes, he could still sense all of it: the weight of little Sydney on his hip, the feel of her mittened hand against his cheek, her dark eyes wide as she stared up at the falling flakes, the sweet wet smell of snow in his nose, his ears stinging with cold, the sound of Sydney's laugh. Those had probably been the happiest hours of his entire life.

He wasn't a man who could do that for a child anymore.

Jack put his hand to his temple, trying to massage away the headache that threatened to emerge. He was near the family quarters now, and by habit he looked up at the windows he knew belonged to Sydney's apartment. One of the lights was on. No doubt Isabelle was up crying.

It wasn't all idyllic mornings in the snow. It was staying up nights with an infant screaming in your ear. Cleaning up the endless volume of vomit and shit that people so small could somehow produce. Panicking when the thermometer read some unthinkable number, like 106 degrees. You didn't love that part. You just got through that part. Going through it once had been enough for Jack. As much as he loved Sydney, he'd never had the slightest desire to do it again, not then with Laura and sure as hell not now.

The dim light from the windows shifted. Although the shapes were indistinct behind the shades, Jack could just discern Sydney's outline, Isabelle in her arms. His daughter was rocking his granddaughter to sleep.

A stupid time to bring a child into the world – the world at war, their homes lost, their futures uncertain. Yet he couldn't look up at Isabelle and feel despair. Jack only knew that he somehow had to make the world a fit place for her again.

How many times had he told Nadia and Sydney that Isabelle was his second chance? He hadn't thought to confront a real second chance, one where the responsibility belonged to him. Isabelle gave him hope because she had Sydney to care for her, Sydney whose courage could carry anyone through anything.

Was Nadia as brave as Sydney? He thought so. But even Sydney couldn't stand entirely alone. Jack knew that if he went back to Nadia now and insisted on the abortion – if he went about it the right way, making it as much her idea as his – she would do it. He had no sentimental ideas about fetuses and thought he could talk Nadia past any reservations she might hold.

But he also knew that, in order to do that, he would have to play to Nadia's fear. To add to her fears now would be the most unconscionable thing he could possibly do.

Jack turned away from the window and leaned against a nearby tree. He closed his eyes as the bark pressed into his skin and remembered deep winter snow, Sydney's laugh and the cold wind on his face.

**

Holding the cat was comforting until the moment Nadia realized she was cradling it like a child. Then she dropped Maxine, who stared up at her accusingly; guilt made Nadia start crying all over again.

_Hormones – check. _

Stupid doctors, who hadn't double-checked something so basic and so important. Stupid her, for having the strings of the IUD clipped years ago so her lovers would feel nothing, thus ensuring that Jack couldn't tell the difference either. Stupid irregular cycles, for making her unconcerned about the seven weeks she'd gone without a period. Nadia wiped at her eyes and tried to steel herself.

_What kind of world is this to bring a child into? Jack doesn't want to do this, and once I'm thinking clearly, I'll know I don't either. _

Yet there had been something to what Jack said. Nadia felt that, if she hadn't wanted the baby, she would've known immediately – and, yes, she would have had the abortion without saying one word to Jack. They would both have preferred it that way. Instead, she had hesitated.

Her hesitation frightened her. She felt some disquiet at the thought of terminating a pregnancy, but that wasn't what held her back, not really. No, it was that, down deep, she wondered if it was _supposed _to happen. Was there something in the formless, wordless visions that came to her in Rambaldi's trances that had told her to expect this? Whatever role they all had to play in Rambaldi's work, Nadia thought perhaps this child was a part of it.

Was that a reason to have the baby, or a reason to refuse to have it?

The doorknob turned, and Nadia hastily dried her tears as Jack walked in. He looked tired, and his hands were reddened from the cold. Heavily, he said, "I'm sorry."

"You were upset. So was I."

"Stop making excuses for me. I don't deserve it." Jack walked to the bed and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. His fingers were cool. Normally he didn't sit on the bed with her like this – he preferred a chair – and she knew that he was trying to meet her halfway. He repeated, more slowly, "I'm sorry."

"You can really be an ass sometimes."

"So I've heard."

Nadia sort of wanted to push him away and teach him a lesson, but what was the use? Jack Bristow wasn't a work in progress; he was who he was, and had been for decades before she came along. Instead she began rubbing his chilled hands between hers, using the friction to warm them up. Jack adjusted himself on the bed next to her in an effort to get comfortable. Obviously he was preparing for a long discussion. That was good. _Now_, Nadia thought, _if I only knew what I wanted to say. _

"Maybe it's the orphanage," she offered. Jack looked at her quizzically. "At the orphanage – you know, they were all good Catholic ladies. They made it sound like abortion was the worst thing anyone could ever do. Over and over again, they talked about how terrible it was. Of course, that was Elena Derevko talking about sin, so you'd think I would've figured out not to take it literally."

"I doubt that's it," he said wryly. "You're hardly the dutiful Catholic schoolgirl."

"True." Probably Jack was remembering one of their wilder sexual escapades – the time in Paris, perhaps, when he'd had her outside on her hands and knees. Nadia thought of other things, besides. The good Catholic ladies of Santa Barbara Orphanage wouldn't have approved of her murdering Roberto, either, but she'd done that without blinking an eye.

"Listen to me." Jack met her eyes and squeezed her hands gently. "This is your choice and your decision. I don't mean to avoid responsibility – we both know that it has to come down to you in the end. Whatever you decide, I'll be here."

Nadia suspected the word _choice_ was shorthand. This didn't anger her; she thought that Jack was being sensible. "You mean you'd help me recover from an abortion. And hide all of this from Sydney."

"If that's what you want, yes." Jack took a deep breath. "And if you want to have the baby, we'll have the baby."

"What?" Until that moment, Nadia had not realized how deeply she'd believed that Jack would insist on an abortion. She'd been bracing herself for it, trying to imagine the procedure itself – stirrups and injections and cramps, everything. Now she was brought up short.

"You heard me."

"Jack, I know you don't want to have another child."

He was silent for a while, considering. "I'm not a very good father."

"You love Sydney. You always put her first."

"That's not enough."

"It's more than some people get."

Jack caressed her face, just a touch, but it comforted her more than anything else he had said or done since he returned. There was a time when Jack had represented danger to her – danger, risk, irresponsibility, all the things she thought she was laying aside but secretly needed to keep close. Now he had become her safety in a volatile world. "This is about what you want. No matter what you choose, you don't have to be afraid. That's what I want you to understand."

What else could she ask? Until that moment, Nadia had not realized how much she had framed the question in her mind as a matter of Jack's disapproval. Simply having the breathing room to consider it freely felt like a blessed relief.

Did she want to have children someday? Yes.

Was now a good time? Absolutely not.

Did she want to have a child with Jack? Nadia thought that over for a few moments, surprised to realize that perhaps she did. She loved him, and they were a part of each other – not just now, but for the rest of their lives, whether or not they stayed together as a couple. For all his flaws as a father, she felt that she understood Jack as a parent – the good along with the bad. And when Jack said that he would be there for her, he meant it. Anything or anyone he swore to protect, he would protect forever.

Did Jack want to have a child with her? It didn't seem that he wanted to have a child with anyone. But if he hadn't been open to the idea, would he really have let her make up her mind without any manipulation?

The questions kept rising in her mind, one after the other, with contradictory answers bubbling up just as fast. Nadia knew she could debate this with herself forever and never come up with one answer. She had to choose, just choose from the gut, and commit to that decision no matter what. She also realized that, to some extent, she had made that choice the moment she decided to tell Jack.

And if Rambaldi had foreseen this, too – he had foreseen Sydney, and Nadia herself. It wasn't inherently good or bad. It just was.

Nadia whispered. "I want to have the baby."

Jack's face tightened just for a moment, stiffening into the stone visage that kept any emotion from rising to the surface. But he nodded and wrapped his arms around her tightly. "All right."

"You're not sure. That's not what you wanted me to say, is it?"

"I'm very sure. We'll be all right. We'll have the baby." He breathed in and breathed out, as if to steady himself, then looked at her intently. "You're shaking."

"I guess I am."

"You don't have to be afraid. We'll get through this." After a moment's hesitation, Jack added, "I'll tell Sydney."

"We can tell her together."

"Trust me, it's better if we don't. She won't take this well."

Nadia's stomach clenched. She'd missed Sydney so much the past few months, and things were only beginning to get back to normal between them. "She's handled our relationship all right so far. It hasn't been easy, but we've made it."

"This will be different." Jack's eyes were sad. But he kissed her forehead, twice, soothing her with his touch. "I'll put in for family quarters ASAP. Legally, I'm still married to your mother –"

"You had to bring that up."

"I'll take care of it. The annulment won't take long, once the paperwork is ready. After that's done, we can be married immediately."

Nadia sat upright and stared at him. "Married?"

"Of course."

"We don't have to get married. You know that, right?"

Jack looked at her, not comprehending. Nadia realized that, although Jack had obviously heard of people having children out of wedlock, he did not consider such behavior something that could possibly apply to him. After a moment, he ventured, "I shouldn't have said it like that." He took both her hands in his. "I'll propose soon. Do it right."

"You did fine." Nadia put her arms around his neck. The idea of getting married frightened her almost as much as the idea of having a child – more, perhaps. Nadia felt as though she'd been snatched up from her life by some fast-moving rider, and now was being carried off to a country she didn't know and couldn't imagine. It was already too late to kick herself free; all she could do was hang on for the ride.

 

**

_Then_

 

Jack looked down at the photograph again. How had he pretended not to remember this? He couldn't forget this image or those memories, not ever.

Nadia stood next to him, silent and hopeful. Her face was so familiar.

"Irina told me years ago that this is a picture of her holding her niece." Katya's child? Elena's? Either was possible; nothing was certain. "She told me that holding this baby filled her with a longing and hope to have children of her own. The next day, I asked Irina to marry me. I wanted my child to be loved like the baby in this photograph."

Nadia swallowed hard. Her eyes shone with tears. If Jack hadn't known better, he would've sworn that she felt pity for him, instead of grief for her dead mother.

"Of course, the story could have been a total fabrication. Another one of the countless lies designed to draw me in." It was important that Nadia know he understood that much. Without that, she couldn't possibly grasp what he was going to say next. "Well, I choose to believe it was the truth. When we had Sydney, Irina held her in this exact same way, and I can only imagine she did the same with you. So, for me, I choose to believe. But then I suppose each of us needs to find our own sense of closure."

He handed the photo back to Nadia. Her hand shook. Maybe she was imagining a mother holding her lovingly. Jack hoped so. Even if that wasn't the kind of mother Irina had turned out to be, it was the mother Nadia deserved.

Jack walked toward the elevator, his gait unsteady. It was as though he were trying to walk across the deck of a ship rolling in the sea. Was it remembering Irina that had done this to him? For the first time in years, Jack hoped that Irina was the reason he was upset. He would be haunted by her for the rest of his life, as he deserved; the damage there was done.

When it came to Nadia Santos – there was so much more damage to do.

She thought he didn't notice. Nadia was disciplined, subtle and intelligent; no doubt virtually anyone else would've been fooled by her act. But Jack could feel Nadia, all the time – her nearness as tangible to him as heat or light. He knew when she hesitated near the door of his office, trying to think of excuses to talk to him. He knew when she watched him conferring to her father or to Sydney. He knew when she angled herself at the door of the briefing room so that she'd walk in first and get the chair next to his.

At least, Jack hoped he knew all that. The alternative was that he was imagining it, and that would be even worse.

Irina had finally stopped appearing to him, finally, months after her murder. Or had she? Had she possessed her daughter instead, found another way to sink her claws into him? He wouldn't put it past her. If there was a woman capable of wrapping the devil himself around her finger to do her bidding, it was Irina Derevko.

The elevator doors slid open, and Jack stepped inside, grateful to be going home. He'd spend a night watching on old movies on television, maybe play with Maxine if she decided to come in from the alleyway. The doors started to slide shut, but were halted by a woman's hand.

"Hi." Nadia gave him a uncertain smile. Her eyes were still red, and she clutched the file folder with Irina's picture inside in one hand. "Long day."

"Yes."

It wasn't that she looked like Irina – no, it was that she looked like Laura, or the girl he'd thought Laura was when they first met.

"I didn't thank you, before. For telling me the truth about the picture."

"You don't usually have to thank people for not lying to you."

"Maybe that's so for most people. For us? It's a different story."

Jack smiled despite himself. "You have a point."

Nadia slid one finger inside the file folder, and he feared that she would pull the picture out again and make him look at Irina's laughing face. She must have sensed his reluctance, because the folder remained closed. But she asked him, "Why was it the picture that did it?"

"I don't understand."

"You said you proposed to her the next day. After you saw the picture. Was it because of the baby? Did you want children so much?"

"It wasn't that." Jack wanted to say no more. He could've cut Nadia off right there; she was asking intensely personal questions, and it wasn't as though she didn't already know he could be cold. Better for her – for both of them – if she figured out that he was rude, too, and sooner rather than later. But the way she looked up at him, so vulnerable and full of hope –

He could control himself with her. He just didn't want to.

The elevator doors opened on the subway tunnel. Nadia's face fell, probably because she thought their conversation had come to an end. Jack was free to walk away.

Instead he said, "Let's grab a drink."

"Drink?"

"And talk."

They walked up to the street and went into the first place they found, some chain restaurant that had a lounge for people to drink in while they waited for their tables. It was still mid-afternoon – APO workdays ended at irregular times – so Jack and Nadia had the place almost to themselves. Nadia ordered some novelty version of the margarita; Jack got a whisky.

"I should've done that," she said. "They'll probably water down the margarita."

"Whisky keeps a bartender honest."

"Does it keep the drinker honest?"

"Let's find out."

Nadia studied him, her dark eyes wary. "You said that you wanted your children to be loved like the child in the photo. So that's why you asked her to marry you. Because you wanted children, and a good mother for them."

"Not exactly." Jack wasn't good at explaining himself; he'd had so little practice. "In that era, if you were married, it was a foregone conclusion that you would have children. Very few people chose not to. I don't know that I ever wanted children, but I wasn't opposed. It wouldn't have occurred to me to be opposed. But the idea of becoming a parent – I suppose it unnerved me."

"You? Unnerved you?"

"It does happen." A waiter in an obnoxious striped shirt dropped off their drinks, and Jack gratefully took hold of his whiskey. Nadia's "margarita" was orange. "I wasn't sure what kind of father I would be. So I always thought I should be sure to marry a woman who would be a good mother."

"Did you?"

Jack remembered the bank accounts, the coded messages, the dozens of tricky clues that had led him to Tomazaki, Irina's betrayal and the contract on Sydney's life. He took a deep swallow of his whisky, and his throat burned. "Surely Sydney's told you what she was like."

"She says Mom was a professor." With her fingertip, Nadia painted a line in the frost on her glass. "There were always books in stacks, and papers that needed to be graded. Sydney used to ask to put stickers on the papers that got good grades, the way her kindergarten teacher put stickers on her work. Sometimes Mom would let her. What do you think the grad students made of smiley-face stickers on their thesis proposals?"

He'd never known that about Irina. One of the many things he hadn't known.

"Sydney says that Mom wore old-fashioned clothes – skirts when the other mothers wore jeans, and pumps instead of tennis shoes. "

"Lots of pink," Jack confided. "Not my favorite color, or Irina's either. I can only think it must have been some perverse KGB directive. The result of some study about the American male's response to femininity."

"Mom used to make a game of it when you were coming home from your 'business trips.' Sydney would help her turn down your bed, and lay out your pajamas and your toothbrush. They would try to figure out if you would be hungry, and if they thought you would, they would make sandwiches for you. Pour you a glass of juice. Sydney used to think it was just like leaving out cookies and milk for Santa Claus."

"Stop."

Nadia's smile faded. Jack could only imagine what his face looked like. He downed the rest of his whisky in one gulp and looked around for the waiter, so he could order another.

"I'm sorry," Nadia said.

"Don't apologize."

"I don't mean to always make you remember the bad times."

"You don't. It's a closed chapter. That's all." Jack gave her a reassuring nod, and he was just drunk enough to wonder what that orange margarita was like, and whether he'd be able to taste it on her mouth. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to find out.

 

**

_Now_

 

Jack lay in bed, spooned behind Nadia. She had finally fallen asleep; now the only sound in the room was her slow, even breathing. At the windowsill, Maxine had edged behind the cheap little curtains to press herself to the glass and watch the sunrise. By now it was bright enough for Jack to make out the dark comma of her tail.

Doubts tore at him, gouging wounds that struck to the bone. He would be a terrible father again; this time around, he might not even be a good husband, either. He wouldn't be able to keep Nadia safe. They would be dead of the Stripe before their child would ever draw breath. Nadia would soon come to regret the decision and despise him for it. The damage done to Nadia's body from gunshot wounds and her long coma might make it impossible for her to carry a child to term.

He let the fears claim him, one after the other, while his heart beat fast in his chest and Nadia slept in his embrace. This was the last night he would ever pay attention to any of those concerns. Best to experience the fear now, work through it, and lay it aside. From now on, his weakness would be irrelevant. After this, he would do what had to be done.

Once the sun was up, Jack rose and dressed in his winter clothes. As he zipped up his regulation parka, Nadia rubbed at her eyes with the balls of her hands. "Where are you going?"

"Not far." Jack bent over the bed and brushed her hair back from her forehead. Her skin was warm and creased from the pillowcase. "I'll stop by the mess hall, bring breakfast back here to you. How about an apple?"

She brightened. "We have the ration points for an apple?"

"I'll steal it."

"Mercenary." Already she was nodding off again.

Jack went to the family quarters and walked up three flights of stairs to Sydney and Vaughn's apartment. Sydney answered the door. "Dad. Hi." She hesitated, shifting from mild confusion to tension. "Is something wrong? Dixon said Nadia and Weiss were negative for infection – nothing's happened?"

"Everything's fine. They're both clear. But I thought we might go for a walk."

Sydney glanced at the clock; it wasn't yet 7 a.m. In the corner of the room that functioned as a living space, rather than a kitchen, Vaughn held Isabelle in his lap as she took her bottle. Isabelle kicked her feet, excited to see her grandpa, and Jack wished he could go to her. After this, it might be a while before they got to spend time together again.

Vaughn and Sydney shared a look, but Vaughn said, "Sure, go ahead. We'll just finish up breakfast here."

"Okay." Sydney looked at her father again, then gave him the warmest smile he'd seen from her in months as she reached for her coat. "Let's go."

They walked out past the tree where Jack had stood last night, toward the edge of Fort Jeremiah's property. Fences had been hastily erected, just in case anybody from one of the distant country towns decided to check in on the deserted army base and found it occupied by suspiciously well-provisioned people. They had enough trouble taking on Rambaldi's forces without having to defend their base. So the pink sky was striped with barbed wire, and fence posts were sunk deep in raw, frost-hard ground.

Sydney said, "Isabelle was up all night."

"I'm sorry. I didn't rest well either."

"Is everything okay?"

"Essentially. But I wanted – I needed to talk with you."

Sydney stopped walking. Her fists were jammed into the pockets of her coat, and the tips of her ears, exposed by her ponytail, were red with cold. She squinted into the east, and so it took Jack a minute to realize that she was struggling for composure.

"Sydney?"

"I've missed this," she blurted out. "I've missed you. Just talking to you."

"Sweetheart. I've missed you too." How many years had Jack waited to hear her say something like this?

She kept going, laughing at her own emotions. "I don't mean talking over important things. I miss that too, but that's not what I'm talking about. We were – getting along, you know? Even having fun. Going for brunch or working together in the nursery, and I could call you just to say hi and you wouldn't ask me why I called. I always wanted that for us. And we had it, and we lost it, and I've missed you."

Jack hugged her tightly. As she folded her arms around him, he shut his eyes and pretended he didn't have to tell her anything. "I love you, Sydney."

"Love you too." When Sydney finally let go, she took a deep breath, then smiled at him bravely. "Okay. I know this isn't a father-daughter chat. Something's up. What is it?"

Jack hesitated. He wanted a few more seconds of Sydney smiling at him.

"Dad? What's wrong?" She hesitated. "Is it about Nadia?"

"Yes."

"I really don't want to get in the middle of any – problems, or arguments. Whatever."

"That's not the issue." Jack took a deep breath. "Nadia's pregnant."

Sydney stared at him in flat disbelief. Slowly her expression shifted into one he did not recognize. "Pregnant. You and Nadia are –"

"—having a baby. It's not something we planned, but we're going ahead."

"You can't be serious."

"Even if I were prone to inappropriate humor, I'd scarcely joke about this."

"But this is – a baby would be – Dad, you're married to Mom. Nadia's mother. You're still husband and wife."

Jack had anticipated several objections, but not this one. "Do you seriously think those vows are still valid? Your mother apparently hasn't for a very long time."

"That's not what I mean!" Sydney was shaking her head in confusion, or perhaps rejection. "You and Nadia – you were getting back at Mom, at Sloane, and I don't like it but – Jesus, don't you think this is taking it a little far?"

"Our relationship isn't about revenge, Sydney. It hasn't been for a long time."

"That's not what you thought when you threw it in Sloane's face." She turned her face from his, unwilling to meet his eyes. The slow thaw between them since she'd first learned of the affair months ago was over now; Sydney had frozen again in an instant. She laughed, a hard sound. "Most men in their 50s who hook up with younger women and start brand-new families are just having a midlife crisis. Wouldn't it have been easier to buy a Lamborghini?"

"That's enough." Jack felt every bit as old and foolish as Sydney wanted him to feel. "Say what you like to me, but I never want to hear that you've spoken like this to Nadia. Am I quite clear?"

She ignored this. "Why are you treating me like the enemy?"

"Sydney, you aren't the enemy. I want you to understand."

"Understand this? This? What's to understand? That you're making a huge mistake, with your life and with Nadia's?"

"What else do you expect me to do?" Jack was louder now. "Demand that Nadia get an abortion she doesn't want?"

"No – no, I didn't mean that --"

"You'd better be very sure what you do mean. Because that's what we're talking about in this situation. I can hurt Nadia, I can abandon her, or I can attempt to raise our child. Those are the options."

"You've really thought it through," Sydney said quietly.

Jack had never been as angry with Sydney as he was in that moment. Not for her flat rejection of the idea of Nadia's pregnancy – that much, Jack had known to expect – but for her insight, the penetrating mind that had seen his own hesitation and pettiness and doubt.

He said only, "We'll be married as soon as I can get an annulment."

"Married?" Her eyebrows went up. "You'd rather ruin both your lives than admit you might be making a mistake."

"I don't blame you for thinking this might not be ideal for Nadia, but I fully intend to –"

"It's a mistake for you too. Marrying someone you don't love? When is that ever a good idea?"

"I love Nadia."

"You haven't been together that long! You hooked up after Sloane nearly killed her, and it's not like we've had ten days of normal life since then. You can't have any idea whether or not you love her."

Jack had hoped never to have this discussion, either, but at least it was happening when things couldn't get any worse. "Nadia and I have been together longer than that."

"What?" Sydney started, as though she had physically been jerked back. "Wait – that doesn't work. That's not even possible. She was with Weiss before she was hurt!"

"This began before Weiss." That seemed the neatest way of putting it.

His daughter was unable to quite catch her breath, her lips twisting into a grimace that was her best attempt at control. "When? Tell me when."

"Approximately two months after she moved to Los Angeles." Her eyes widened, and Jack's irritation got the better of him as he snapped, "Don't demand the truth from me and then act offended when you get it."

"This is my fault now? I find out that my dad and my sister have been screwing around since they first laid eyes on each other, that they've been lying to me for_ years_, and it's my fault?"

"That's not what I meant." Jack tried to calm down. "We ended it a long time ago, because we knew that we wanted to be honest with you. After the accident at Sloane's, we reunited. The relationship has been important to both of us for a long time now, and you need to understand that."

Sydney's eyes narrowed. "Stop deluding yourself. You don't even know her."

"You don't realize how –"

"You don't know that Nadia's been helping me plan a meet with Mom. For months, Dad. Months. Since L.A."

He couldn't have heard that correctly. "You're working with your mother?"

"Not with her. Neither of us. But we're going to hear what she has to say for herself, maybe try one more time to get through to her. And we both knew – me and Nadia both, Dad – we knew you couldn't be trusted to deal with it. That's how much she trusts you. That's how well you know her."

Jack wanted to sit down flat on the ground. He wanted to shoot someone. He knew he must look every bit as confounded and crushed as Sydney could have hoped, and he despised his own weakness.

He gave Sydney the only answer he had, repeating, "We'll be married soon. Come or don't. "

Sydney stalked away from him, hands in her pockets, making a beeline for home. Jack watched her go for a while, silent and numb. Once he could move again, he went to the mess hall, picked up breakfast and went back to the BOQ.

Nadia was still in bed, but she was awake, propped up on pillows. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. "Hey. You were gone a long time."

"Did you think I wouldn't come back?"

"No. I know you better than that."

Jack took the stolen apple from his pocket and handed it to her. Nadia's face brightened as she palmed it, and he listened to her crunching while he stripped off his heavy coat and boots. Once that was done, he said, "I told Sydney. About the baby, the wedding, everything."

Nadia froze, mid-chew, her cheeks full. She swallowed hard. "How did it go?"

Lost for words, Jack shrugged. Though he thought he kept his face impassive, Nadia immediately held out an arm. Jack stretched on the bed beside her, above the covers while she was beneath them, and held her close.

When he trusted himself to speak again, he said, "Sydney told me about the potential meet with Irina."

"Jack." Nadia looked stricken. "She asked me to keep it secret. I thought we should play it her way."

"I'd guessed as much. You did the right thing, taking her side."

"I don't know if we were going to go through with it."

"You would have. We all give Irina Derevko second chances. Winning them is a talent of hers."

"You're really not angry," she said, wonderingly.

"I'm glad it came out in time to stop you both from making a mistake. Beyond that, I think we have enough to worry about. "

"I wish Sydney had taken it better." Nadia wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze turning inward. "How am I supposed to do this without her?"

Jack had heard this question before, from a young woman sure she could never make it through her pregnancy without Vaughn. He gave the same answer now that he had then. "I'll be here."

**

_Then_

 

"It's a closed chapter," Jack said. "That's all."

Nadia wondered if he really thought his brusqueness fooled anyone, or whether it was merely the best way he'd found to shut people up. About time he figured out it wouldn't work on everyone.

She took another sip of her vile orange margarita, then asked, "So when did you change your mind about being a father?"

Jack hesitated, clearly considering telling Nadia to mind her own business. But he didn't. "Not until Sydney was on the way. It wasn't planned – not planned by me, anyway. When Laura –" He paused.

"You can call her that, if it's easier."

He did not look reassured. Maybe the distinction was important to him. "When Laura told me she was expecting, I wasn't sure how I felt. But I came to like the idea – got used to it, at least. During labor, I didn't even think about a baby; Laura was in so much pain. I couldn't see past that. Then it was over, and they held Sydney up, and – that was it."

From any other man, Nadia would have expected clumsy raptures about the joys of fatherhood, or the transforming love of holding his child in his arms. The unexpected softness in Jack's eyes when he spoke Sydney's name said more to her than any words could have.

_This crush is getting out of hand, _she scolded herself. _Pull yourself together before you embarrass yourself. _

But she wasn't doing anything wrong, not really. Yes, they were having a drink together in a tacky restaurant – where nobody they knew would be likely to see them – but it was the middle of the afternoon, totally innocent. And Jack was finally talking to her about her mother. That was worth risking her pride.

As long as she was taking risks, she might as well risk big. "Do you think Mom loved you?"

He turned his whisky glass between his hands. "I don't know."

"My father says she never loved him."

"That's not as reassuring as you seem to think."

Embarrassed, Nadia stared down at her near-empty margarita glass. "I'm sorry. It's just that I – I guess I wish I'd really known her."

"It's all right." Jack gave her a tight-lipped smile. "I know how that feels."

Sydney thought that her parents had loved each other once. Maybe that was only a comfortable lie her sister told herself. Nadia thought that Irina could not have loved Jack, not if she could ultimately betray him in that way. Irina Derevko had driven off a pier, surfaced from the depths and walked away without a backward glance. Nadia could both admire her mother's ingenuity and recognize the scorched earth she'd left behind.

When Nadia had been a little girl at the orphanage, she had never particularly wanted to be adopted herself; she'd always been convinced that her real father would come for her someday. Nonetheless, she had needed a sense of family, and the other girls were more than playmates to her. They were friends, sisters, the only people in the world who relied on her as much as she relied on them. But on those days when families came to look for children they might adopt, Nadia was the only one who rubbed dust on her face and put on her shabbiest clothes. The other little girls brushed their hair until it shone. They scrubbed their cheeks pink and wore the best dresses they had. They thought if they were pretty and cheerful enough, perhaps this time they would be loved.

After it was all over, that night, the one or two girls who had been chosen would fall asleep with big grins on their faces. Sometimes they had already packed their things, even though it would take a few weeks for the process to be complete. The others would all cry themselves to sleep because nobody wanted them.

Nadia cried because her friends were leaving. All those dozens of stolen sisters, taken away from her. Didn't she need them more than happy, wealthy, satisfied grown-ups? How could they just leave Nadia behind, knowing that she loved them so?

She and Jack were alike in that way, Nadia thought. They had both been the abandoned ones. They knew how it felt to be left behind.

"How does your drink taste?" Jack asked abruptly, as if disconcerted by her silence.

"Pretty terrible."

"It didn't look promising."

"From now on, I'll take my drinks straight." She smiled at him softly. "Thanks for talking with me. I know it hasn't been easy for you, discussing Mom. I know you still loved her."

"Then you know more than I do." Jack gave her a hard look, but she wasn't cowed.

"I saw the look on your face after I killed her murderer. There was such satisfaction there – and sadness, too. You wanted the man who killed Irina Derevko to die. You thought he deserved it. I think that's the reaction of a man who still loved the mother of his child, at least a little."

"The just punishment for a murderer," Jack said. His face was strange, and Nadia knew not to pry further.

They paid their check and parted ways at the door, nodding farewell to each other without another word. She thought about her mother all the way home, both because of Jack's revelations and because it was the surest way to avoid thinking about Jack. When Sydney asked her what she'd done after work, Nadia lied.

 

**

 

_Now_

 

When the CIA drafted up the list of essential personnel who would be evacuated with their families to Fort Jeremiah, they had included several of the lawyers. Jack hadn't seen the point at the time, but now he was grateful.

"You asked for an annulment on the grounds of fraud," said Trott, leafing through various sheaves of paper as he sat opposite Jack's desk. "Derevko's deception of you could be construed as 'ongoing criminal activity,' which is generally sufficient. Where you run into trouble with the annulment is the time frame. Normally, a petitioner has to file within four years of discovering the fraud. You found this out in 1981. We could argue that you thought she was dead, but you found out she wasn't five years ago, which puts us past the deadline regardless. We're way too late for an annulment now."

Jack sighed. "So that's out. I take it the next option is divorce?"

"No shortage of grounds – abandonment, infidelity, concealment of ongoing criminal activity, and of course, everybody's favorite, irreconcilable differences. You have no minor children, no community property. You haven't lived together in more than a quarter of a century. That's about as open-and-shut as it gets."

He'd never considered divorcing her. The annulment had loomed in his mind ever since he'd learned the truth about "Laura West" all those years ago; Jack had nearly gone through with it in 1982, even though he'd believed her dead. He had wanted to undo their marriage, undo his mistake, make it as though it had never been. Only thoughts of Sydney had held him back. His daughter would have remained legitimate – Jack's "good faith" in the marriage ensured that – but when she grew up, she might have learned of the annulment and asked difficult questions. Much later, when Irina pointed out to him that they were still married, Jack had immediately thought again of the annulment. He'd never filed for it, though, motivated in part by hopes he'd rarely acknowledged to himself.

Now it was too late for any annulment. Jack should have recognized that a long time ago; his connection to Irina would always be a part of him. He couldn't erase his marriage to her. He could only end it.

"What do I have to do?"

"Technically, there's a period of time you'd have to advertise, but probably the CIA can apply a little pressure, get that waived. So just sign the basic forms, and I'll take care of the rest."

Trott pushed a sheet of paper toward Jack. He'd already filled them out, save for the signature, which made Jack wonder sourly why his presence was required at all. Jack picked up his pen – then hesitated.

"Mr. Bristow?"

"You can go. I'll drop these off at your quarters later."

Fortunately, Trott had the good sense to leave without saying much else. Jack kept staring down at the words on the paper, jumbling them together in his mind (desertion, dissolution) without really reading them. He saw other things, other times.

Jack closed his eyes tightly for a moment. Then he took up the pen and signed his name. For a few minutes after that, he sat still, watching the ink dry.

**

"Shotgun and Houdini's intel from their Tibet mission suggests that Derevko and Sloane have established separate bases of operations but continue to work together," Jack said, standing in the middle of the briefing room. Nadia stood in one corner, looking rather pale; morning sickness had kicked in during the past few days. In the other corner, farthest from him, stood Sydney, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looked at the slides projected behind Jack, never directly at him. "We have no solid leads on either's location, and at this point, their capture cannot be our main priority."

"How can they not be?" Dixon protested. "They're the ones who did this to London. If we put credence in the Rambaldi theories, they're responsible for L.A. and Seoul, too. We're just going to let them walk?"

"As soon as we have a lead, we're going after them. But without any leads, prioritizing their capture can only waste our time. Also, if we put credence in the Rambaldi theories, Sloane and Derevko may no longer be taking an active role in any of the current instability. Once the chain reaction has begun, it's self-perpetuating."

Marshall interjected, "Which means our best shot would be that Sunset whatchamacallit, right? It's sort of like the anti-Horizon. Stops all this Rambaldi stuff in its tracks."

"Again, an appealing theory. But we have no lead on the Sunset, either."

"Evergreen could try that Rambaldi juice again – sorry, Evergreen, I know it sucks, but – you see stuff when you take it, right? Like the Sunset?"

Nadia's eyes went very wide, and Jack realized the problem only a second after she did. None of them had any idea precisely what the Rambaldi fluid was made of or why it affected Nadia as powerfully as it did. But it was painful, possibly toxic, which meant there was no way it could safely be given to a pregnant woman.

Jack quickly said, "We'll consider that going-forward, but for now we have to work toward geopolitical stability, to the extent we can. K Directorate is emerging as a quasi-governmental force in parts of North Africa, which means we have to move in."

"I have an idea," Nadia said. Everyone stared. Until that second, Jack had never known nor much cared if anybody outside their APO group was aware of their relationship; it was now very clear that everybody knew, and the sensation was uncomfortable. "It's only a hunch, but it might be worth pursuing."

"What kind of a hunch?" Jack asked.

"About the Sunset. When Houdini and I were in London, we confronted Brenner very shortly before he committed suicide. He blew the Mueller device, and that's all either of us thought about at the time, but I've been thinking about something he said. Brenner looked at me and said that he knew I was Derevko's. He said he knew my face. And then he said – 'I hid it for her, and I will carry the secret forever, but that's not good enough. She wants me dead.'"

"That's it exactly," Weiss said, realization dawning in his eyes. "So he thought we'd been sent by Derevko to kill him to protect the location of something important. What if that was the Sunset?"

"It couldn't be." Sydney said, too loudly. "Think about it. If Derevko had the Sunset, she would have destroyed it."

"You know how Rambaldi's followers are about his works. They might not want to destroy anything he made, not if they thought they could keep it from us. " Nadia shrugged. "It might not be the Sunset that Brenner was talking about. It might not be anything important."

"Regardless of what it was, Derevko wanted it hidden, and that's reason enough to look for it." Jack considered the possibilities. "We'll go back, trace Brenner's movements during the past several years as best we can. Then we can send teams to investigate."

Around the room, people nodded, satisfied to have concrete steps to take against Rambaldi's followers. Jack tasked Marshall with tracking Brenner, detailed the next op in Libya, and closed the meeting. As everyone began to file out, murmuring among themselves, he said, "Phoenix, Evergreen, stay for a moment."

Nadia turned to him right away; Sydney stood in the doorway for a moment, unwilling to even face her father and sister together. But she didn't walk out, which as much as Jack could hope for at this point. Her back still to them both, she said, "What is this about?"

"It's about your mother."

Jack heard Nadia draw in a sharp breath. He wished he could have warned her about this beforehand without being disloyal to Sydney.

"Mom?" Sydney half-turned, so that she was profiled against the sliver of night sky visible in the still-open door. "What about her?"

"The two of you had planned a meet with her," Jack said. "I want you to keep it."

"What?" Nadia's lips parted, and she shook her head. "Jack, if you send in a team with us, she'll see it coming. You know she will."

"This isn't about setting a trap. I don't want you to try to capture her. I want you to make the meet, just as you planned."

"You want to Nadia to gloat." Sydney said flatly. "You want an excuse to tell Mom about the baby."

Jack did not blame Sydney for thinking him bitter – she wasn't wrong – but he wished she were better at thinking tactically when upset. "Nadia can tell Irina if she wants to, or not. It's her call – not mine, and not yours. Is that clear?"

"Don't put this on me." Nadia took a step backward.

"I only meant – use your own judgment."

"If I'm not interrupting," Sydney said, "I just want to clear one thing up. If this isn't about capturing Mom, and it isn't about hurting her, then why are you going to let us make the meet?"

It was Nadia who answered. "You want us to sound her out for information about the Sunset. If she thinks we're desperate enough to make the meet just to find that out, she won't realize that we might be onto something tracking Brenner's moves. If there's any chance that she's heard about Brenner's death, we have to act fast, before she covers her tracks."

"Exactly. It helps that you two made overtures about the meet before Brenner died. She'll be suspicious, because she always is, but I think you two could throw her off. Buy us time. More than that, you might be able to pick up on conversation cues or other hints that would give us some idea of her location. It's a long shot, but it's all we've got at the moment."

Sydney leaned against the doorjamb, as though she were tired. In moments like this, Jack could see the sorrow beneath her anger, and his heart ached for his daughter. "It's a good plan," she said, almost too softly to hear. "Everything's worked out perfectly. You just need me to run the errand."

"Sydney –"

But she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

Nadia said something that startled him. "You shouldn't let her walk away like that."

"How do you suggest I stop her?"

"Yell. Make a scene. Do something. Sydney holds her disapproval over your head, and you let her do it, every time."

"The problems in my relationship with Sydney are my fault, not hers."

"I don't think that's true."

"Don't take Sydney's side against mine."

"They aren't necessarily two different sides."

"I doubt you could convince her of that."

"Jack, you don't do Sydney any favors by withdrawing every time she's upset with you. Get angry with her! Do something, anything to draw a line. Refusing to do that – you aren't taking it easy on her, Jack. I know you think you are, but you're actually being very cruel."

"What do you mean?"

"You let Sydney believe she doesn't affect you. Before she believes that you love her, she has to realize that you're vulnerable to her. Or is showing vulnerability too much to ask, even of a father?"

"You may not have witnessed much of it, but trust me. Sydney's seen too much of my anger." Jack studied Nadia's face carefully, searching for any sign of hesitation. "Are you sure you're up to the meet?"

"I'm not the one you have to worry about."

"You mean Sydney."

"I mean you." Nadia squared her shoulders. "But I'm ready. We'll go find Mom."


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

 

Now

 

Outside Punta Gorda, Belize

 

"Evergreen!" Rachel glanced backward as she ran down the shell-graveled hill. "Evergreen, are you with us?"

"Just run!"

Nadia could hear the military transports behind them, gaining fast. They were only a couple hundred yards from the beach, where Dixon waited with a boat to get them the hell out of there. The old injury to her leg stabbed her with every step, and her body was responding differently now – not much, but every second counted.

She launched herself through heavy greenery that still swayed from Rachel's escape. With relief she saw the beach, Rachel running out into the surf and the boat, just far enough out to float. As Nadia stumbled from the gravel to the sand, she saw Dixon shoulder his rifle, ready to defend her. "Don't shoot! Gun the motor!"

Dixon didn't move, but Rachel hauled herself over the side and instantly jumped behind the wheel.

Water splashed beneath Nadia feet, around her calves, past her knees. She was only meters from the boat, but the water slowed her down, and she could hear shouting in Spanish behind her. Too late, too late, they were out of time --

Dixon fired. Nadia heard the explosion, and felt a hard slam of hot air and force slap her across the back. He'd hit the gas tank and destroyed the transport.

_Ten lives, _she thought. _ Soldiers scared that we were foreigners who might spread the Stripe. They were only trying to protect their country. She didn't look back. _

Both Rachel and Dixon reached down to help pull her up and over the side of the boat, assistance they would never have offered before her pregnancy had become widely known. Nadia was grateful for it, but mostly because of her leg. "Where are Phoenix and Houdini?" she gasped, as she wrung out the tail of her shirt.

"Phoenix radioed in a few minutes ago. " Dixon said. "Said she and Houdini had a good surveillance position, so they're staying in place another four days, until the next fuel shipment. They can get back to Florida that way."

Rachel frowned, even as she steered the boat into deeper water. "Brenner was there for a few days five years ago. We covered the site pretty clearly. What are the odds that they're going to find anything else?"

"They won't." Nadia squinted into the sun's reflection on the choppy water. "That's not why she stayed."

"What do you mean?" Poor Dixon. He was so good, so straightforward, that he couldn't see it.

Nadia answered as simply as she could. "Jack's divorce from Irina was finalized just before we left. We'll probably get married the day after I get back. Sydney didn't want to refuse to come, not if she could just – get around it. And now she has."

Nobody spoke for a while after that. As the ship that would take them back to the U.S. appeared on the horizon, a small white cup on the dark blue sea, Nadia decided it was for the best. Sydney would never have agreed to attend the wedding; at least this way, Jack wouldn't have to hear her refusal.

"Hey," Rachel said as she took a seat by Nadia's side. She'd handed the wheel off to Dixon without Nadia paying any attention. "Day after tomorrow, huh? That's going to be the big day?"

"I don't know how big a day it can be." Nadia smiled unevenly, then focused on her sore ankle. As she massaged the muscle, the shadowy scar of the bullet wound from Mongolia moved ever so slightly. "Shotgun wedding, no flowers, no wedding dress, no family there – not exactly the ingredients for a happy occasion."

Rachel considered that for a moment. "Well, it just snowed in Missouri. I bet it hasn't melted away yet."

"Eight inches? Probably not." What point could there be in a weather report?

But Rachel wasn't just making an awkward conversational segue. "It's snowy, but it's not all that cold. If you guys got married outside – maybe up on that hill at the western side of the base? You know, with all the pine trees? I think that would be pretty."

"I guess it would." Nadia considered it. A small smile tugged at her lips. "And it wouldn't matter so much, not having a dress. Not if we were out in the snow."

"There you go." Rachel grinned. "You know, if this CIA gig ever falls through, maybe I can become a wedding planner."

"Thank you. It means a lot."

"Hey, every girl wants a beautiful wedding day."

The wedding itself mattered less to Nadia than the fact someone, at least, could look at her and Jack and see them as a man and a woman who loved each other, no more and no less, and wish them well. Maybe that was only because Rachel wasn't close enough to them to understand just how screwed up it all was, but Nadia would take what she could get.

 

**

_Fort Jeremiah, Missouri_

 

Jack spent most of his second wedding day working alone.

Nadia had set out that morning to move them from their BOQ efficiency into family apartments. (To spare his daughter's feelings, he had chosen one on the far side of the base from Sydney and Vaughn.) Nadia insisted on doing this herself, and Jack was just busy enough to let her.

Instead, he remained in the office, collecting data from other CIA stations and deciding how much the other agents could tell their families (unrest in Italy, yes; potential nuclear incident in Pakistan, no). Every couple of hours, he checked in with the communications crews to see if Sydney and Weiss had sent in any reports. Around noon, the answer was yes – a few recorded words from Weiss, who unsurprisingly said they'd found nothing new. Jack also caught up on paperwork, including filing for the visas that would give Sydney and Nadia cover in Siberia when they went to meet their mother.

His report said nothing about Irina. The real purpose of their trip would be yet another Bristow family secret. Of course, secrets had defined his family from the beginning.

On his first wedding day, Jack had not been working alone. He'd woken up slightly hung over; no bachelor party, not for him, but Arvin and Ben had insisted on buying him a drink or five. The good suit he'd bought for the occasion hung on his closet door, still in a shining plastic cover emblazoned with the name of the store. At the chapel, a dozen friends waited, and Arvin had remembered to bring a rose for Jack to pin to his lapel. Emily wore a straw hat wreathed with daisies. Laura's hair was braided atop her head like a Swiss shepherdess; that was the only day Jack ever saw her wearing lace. There had been a luncheon afterward, and toasts with sweet white wine, and Jack caught a glimpse of himself in a hallway mirror. Laughing and relaxed, with a scarlet lipstick kiss on one cheek, Jack had hardly recognized himself.

He knew himself today.

Only once was Jack interrupted. He heard a knock on the door, and he thought _Sydney_ before he could stop himself. It wasn't her, just a young agent from the communications group with a message.

"I mean, maybe it's a message, Director Bristow, sir, but maybe it's not, but I thought we ought to run it by you just in case."

"You picked this up from the Dolman satellite array?" That array had been inactive for years, ever since the Alliance was taken down.

"Right, and that's kind of strange, considering everything, but it's definitely something, not just static, because there's a repeating pattern of primes."

"I see that." Jack made a mental note never to assign this man and Marshall to the same op; they would never stop talking long enough to get the job done. "It's an encryption form you wouldn't be familiar with. It was standard use at SD-6."

"You mean – you think this is from Arvin Sloane?"

Jack ignored this question and sat down to do the necessary decryption. The code was rusty to him now, but he picked it up within a few lines. He was grateful it was quick. There were precious few things left for Sloane and Jack to say to one another, and most of them involved an imminent risk of Jack's death.

But Sloane gave no warnings, made no excuses. To Jack's dawning astonishment, he saw that Sloane had encrypted a message of only one line:

_Please don't hurt Nadia. _

He'd taken Jack's boast as a threat, heard only a man who wanted to be avenged. Jack wasn't insulted. On the contrary, Sloane understood him too well. The person he'd failed to understand was his own daughter, Nadia was too proud and too smart to let herself be used and discarded; more than that, she was generous in spirit, enough to look at him – gray and stiff and harsh as he was – and see someone to love.

"Director Bristow? Sir? Should we send an answer? Run this by some of the other CIA outposts?"

Although he pitied Sloane's concern for his daughter, Jack knew the rules of war. "Neither review nor response is necessary. I'm writing down certain input codes for you to send back. After you send this, the satellite array with self-destruct."

"Sir? Can we do that, sir?"

"We're doing it right now." Jack jotted down the last number and thrust Sloane's plea away from him. Within a few minutes, he was back at work on other, more mundane things.

As the afternoon went on and the shadows lengthened, Jack put on his regulation parka and walked out to the western side of the base. It was quiet, the only sound his feet crunching through the snow. At first he wondered whether Nadia might have thought better of the idea of getting married outside in winter, but then he reached the top of the hill and saw them waiting below. The chaplain was already there, which wasn't surprising, but so were Rachel Gibson, Marcus Dixon and Marshall and Carrie Flinkman. They all smiled up at him – no, Jack realized, at them. Nadia was coming to his side.

"I invited a few people." She stepped closer. "I hope that's okay."

"It's fine." Jack wondered how she managed to look like a bride, even though the white she wore was a standard-issue winter terrain parka. Her hair hung loose, and he brushed it back from her cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Nervous, but good. You?"

"I'm not nervous."

"You've had practice."

"That's not why. Trust me."

Nadia took a deep breath. "I guess we should –"

"I'm not late, am I?" Vaughn came trudging up the hill behind them, a snow-suited Isabelle braced against his side. "Sorry. Somebody didn't want to put on her shoes, even though the snow is probably up to her little neck."

Jack gave Nadia a look, but she was as surprised as he was. Neither of them had thought that Vaughn would come to the wedding, given how Sydney felt about it. But Nadia quickly recovered and held out her arms for Isabelle. Jack rubbed his granddaughter's head as she went to her aunt, and relished Isabelle's giggle. "About time," Nadia said. "Every wedding needs a flower girl. Even the ones without flowers."

"Especially those, I'd guess." Vaughn quickly kissed Nadia on the cheek, then nodded to Jack. "Do you guys need any help moving? Twenty pounds each isn't that much to haul, but –"

"Nadia's taken care of it." Jack wasn't entirely sure what else to say and expected Nadia to keep the conversation going, but she was already taking Isabelle down to the others to be fussed over. He decided to take advantage of the momentary privacy. "Vaughn, why are you here?"

Startled, Vaughn said, "This is your wedding day, right? Last time I checked, most brides and grooms invited guests to the celebration."

"The last time I checked, your wife was vehemently opposed to this marriage. I doubt she'd appreciate your being here."

"You're probably right, Jack. But this isn't all about Sydney. It's about Isabelle, too."

"Isabelle?"

"You and Nadia are having a baby," Vaughn said, very simply. "That baby is going to be Isabelle's aunt or uncle – as well as her cousin -- whatever. My point is, they'll be so close in age that they'll probably be more like siblings than anything else. However confusing that might be for all of us, our children are going to know each other and love each other their whole lives. And no matter what else goes down, what arguments or breakups or problems we all have with one another along the way, we are never going to stand between those kids. Never."

No question was asked, but Jack knew when he was being tested. "Never."

"So we start now. We get through it now. The rest we'll take as it comes." Vaughn hesitated. "Syd will see that, eventually."

For the first time, this felt like a wedding day. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for taking care of Isabelle."

"I do have to thank you for taking care of my children." Jack had never said my children before. "You're a good father, Vaughn."

Vaughn was apparently smart enough to know a real compliment when he heard one. He nodded slowly. "Thanks. I appreciate that." The serious moment ended as soon as it had begun, when Vaughn grinned. "Let's get you hitched."

**

 

_Then_

 

"I'm planning on asking Sydney to marry me." It was odd how Jack could actually hear Danny's stupid grin over the phone. "And I was hoping to get your approval."

Jack took a deep breath. "Danny, let me ask you a question."

"Sure."

"How well do you know my daughter?"

"We've been dating for two years," Danny replied, as though that were an answer.

"Because if you feel the need to ask me about this scenario, I have a sense you don't know Sydney at all."

"Sir, I love your daughter and I want to marry her. That's why I'm calling."

""First of all, Danny, the truth is, this is just a courtesy call. Like when you say to your neighbor, 'We're having a loud party on Saturday night, if that's all right with you.' What you really mean is, 'We're having a loud party on Saturday night.'"

"Mr. Bristow –"

"Sydney doesn't care what my opinion is." Strange, how that truth could still hurt Jack, years after he'd accepted it as no more than his due. ""What interests me is that you do."

"It's just – a custom, to call the father, that's all this is –"

A custom. Danny was just the sort of thoughtless, unoriginal lump to follow custom instead of anything approaching good sense. Better spell it out for him, or else he'd probably miss it. "I tell you what. I may become your father-in-law, and that's just fine. But I will not be used as part of a charming little anecdote you tell your friends at cocktail parties so they can see what a quaint, old-fashioned guy Danny really is. Are we clear?"

Silence. Jack almost had it in him to pity the boy.

"- yes, sir."

"Welcome to the family." With that, Jack hung up.

For a long time after that, he sat and stared at the phone. It wasn't that he expected Danny Hecht to call back; Jack felt he had been sufficiently discouraging of any future father/son conversations. But the fact was he had more to say to Danny – words he could never say, no matter how much the boy needed to hear them.

_You don't know your own fiancee. You don't know that she's a spy. Your situation is different than mine – Sydney loves you, I'm sure, for whatever reason – but the fact remains, you do not know her. And you cannot have any conception of what that means, to marry a woman you don't know. _

You don't understand the pressures Sydney is under. You don't know that she risks her life every day. I'm certain you respect her, because Sydney wouldn't be with anyone who didn't, but you can't comprehend a tenth of her skill or her courage. You can't possibly appreciate her enough.

You don't know that Sydney's life is a lie, or that by marrying her under false pretenses, you're making her existence even more dishonest than it already has to be. You don't know how the lies hurt her.

And you can't have any idea how much worse it's going to get when she learns how far the lies actually go.

Jack wondered if Sydney would call after Danny popped the question. He decided that she wouldn't.

Enough brooding. It was nearly 4 p.m., and the jet to Manila would leave within the hour. Jack logged out of his computer, put his items in his briefcase, grabbed his carry-on bag and left Jennings Aerospace. He phoned for a cab on his way out the door, and as he walked to the intersection where the car would met him, he casually dropped an empty Styrofoam cup into the trash. A CIA operative would collect it, and the encoded information he'd written on the bottom, later. Then he got into the cab to begin a long journey halfway around the world to Arvin Sloane.

 

_Cebu City, the Philippines _

 

"Magellan landed here in the 16th century," Sloane said as they strolled beneath palm trees in the plaza. "He baptized the Rajah himself, only weeks before Magellan was slaughtered. He was so close to fulfilling his dream and circumnavigating the globe, but he instead he died halfway around the world from his home."

"A cautionary tale, Arvin? Not like you, to advise against dreaming big."

"Cautionary? If Magellan had to face death, at least he faced it knowing how far he had come. Knowing more of the world than almost any man before him. I call that victory."

Jack wondered why Sloane used the word "if" to talk about facing death, but it was merely idle curiosity. Other concerns were more pressing. "Speaking of caution, I should have asked why this trip is a secret from the Alliance before I agreed to come."

"Yes, you should have." Sloane smiled, the crinkling at the corners of his eyes visible despite his blue-lensed sunglasses. "It's good to know that you still have some small measure of faith, Jack. Better still to know that you have faith in me."

"I'd have more faith if you gave me a straight answer."

Sloane shook his head, tolerant and affectionate. "You know as well as I do that there are times when it pays to stack the deck in your favor, even when dealing with the Alliance."

Jack didn't immediately respond. He and Sloane had kept secrets from the Alliance before, partly because it was sane policy to keep secrets from men as bloodthirsty as the Council of Twelve, partly as a means of having blackmail material against one another. This felt different, however, and it bothered Jack that he didn't understand why.

They walked on a smooth, paved path in a verdant green park, toward the small shrine to Magellan's Cross. With their sport shirts and khaki shorts, they fit in well with the various tourists milling around, Jack thought. Casual disguises were always the most difficult for him to evaluate.

As they entered the white adobe shrine, Jack and Arvin simultaneously removed their sunglasses. The blinding Philippine sun, now filtered through windows laced with cast-iron grills, revealed painted murals of the natives kneeling before conquistadors to receive baptism. Jack wondered sourly if they'd had much choice in the matter. Prayer cards and long matches littered the floor in brilliant stripes of red and white. At the front of the shrine hung a black wooden cross, simpler by far than anything that surrounded it. "It's not genuine," Sloane said, "but it looks it, don't you think?"

"How do you know it's not authentic?"

"Because I know who really put it here, and why."

Instead of taking the bait, Jack waited. Sloane wouldn't be able to resist explaining for long.

They made themselves comfortable on a bench in the back, watching the other tourists wander in and out: beaming honeymooners, bored teenagers, people who spoke Farsi and Mandarin and Portuguese. Idly, Jack checked his watch: four more minutes to go.

"You seem distracted," Sloane said. "Any particular reason?"

"Sydney's boyfriend and I had an unpleasant conversation." Jack knew better than to reveal the impending proposal; Sloane's possessiveness toward Sydney did not need any extra aggravation. "I don't think he's the right man for her."

"It's a college romance. Hardly worth getting upset about." Apparently, in Sloane's mind, Sydney was still the 17-year-old he'd recruited, not a mature woman in her 20s who could contemplate marriage. "Besides, if you saw her regularly, you'd know how happy she seems to be lately. This work suits her."

Someday, Jack thought, he might learn how Arvin Sloane managed to plant so many barbs in a couple of simple sentences. "I don't intend to voice my objections regarding Danny."

"Are you speaking to her these days?"

"Occasionally." Six times in the past year. "She reserves her limited spare time for Danny and her friends."

"She'd have more time if she'd admit that she's not going to be a college professor and drop the masters program."

"Her studies are important to her."

"Because they remind her of her mother." Sloane's dark eyes studied Jack intently. "And that's the wrong reason, don't you think?"

The small chapel they sat in, Sloane's familiar smile, the mention of Irina Derevko and the memory of Danny's talk about marriage made Jack think of his wedding day with a vividness that almost startled him. He could taste sweet white wine and recalled the sound of his own foolish laugh. But Jack refused to be so easily baited. "Sydney's reasons are her own. It's not for us to interfere. Either of us."

Sloane might have argued with that, but four minutes were up. The bomb went off.

People screamed as smoke began pouring from one of the nearby buildings. All around Jack and Sloane, tourists shrieked and ran from the shrine, either to escape the explosion or to look at the resulting chaos. They'd be disappointed: Marshall Flinkman had expertly designed the device so that it would make a lot of noise and even more smoke, but cause relatively little damage beyond a couple of broken windows. Unless a security guard had had the extraordinarily poor judgment to pick it up at the moment of detonation, it was unlikely anybody had even been injured. They only needed the distraction.

The moment the chapel emptied, Jack and Sloane hurried to the cross. Jack took his "camera" and slid it next to the small marble block inscribed with a dedication to Magellan, then hit the flash button. Prongs shot out and lifted the block up as smoothly as a car jack. Beneath the block was a small, hollowed-out chamber. Sloane reached in and withdrew a small folded bit of burlap, stiff with age.

"Put the stone back," Sloane ordered. "The police will be here shortly."

"They won't be looking for old men stealing from Magellan."

"Speak for yourself."

"You're ten years older than I am."

"I meant that this isn't stealing." Sloane's voice had taken on a dreamy quality. "This belongs to me, in a way."

They replaced the block and joined the crowd outside. Jack pretended to take a few pictures. Later, at the hotel, Sloane unwrapped what they'd come so far to find. It was a key – old, as far as Jack could tell, and heavy black cast iron. Sloane smiled down at it in a way that resembled his doting attention to Sydney when she was a baby. Jack was less enthralled. "What does this open?"

"The private chamber of Milo Rambaldi."

"Rambaldi?" That was a name Jack hadn't heard in years. "Are you still studying that? I thought you'd given it up long ago."

"His cults still have power, and they're becoming more active." That was a sane, tactical reason, but it did not have much to do with the gleam in Sloane's eyes as he cradled the key in his palm. "Everything Rambaldi created is valuable to them – worth killing for, even dying for. They'd do almost anything for this."

Jack studied the key and asked what he thought was the logical next question. "Where is Rambaldi's private chamber?"

"It was destroyed in a fire in 1719."

"Completely destroyed?" When Sloane nodded, Jack asked, "So this is a key to – nothing."

"It's still Rambaldi's work, Jack. Still his creation."

"That people would kill us for. Are we going to melt it down? Remove the danger?"

Sloane looked at Jack with real horror in his eyes, an expression Jack didn't think he'd ever seen from him before. "You don't understand the power this key represents."

"Does it have some other fantastic property besides opening doors that don't exist?"

"You must have read comic books in your youth, Jack." Sloane's mouth relaxed into a smile. "Its value is primarily symbolic. The key reminds us of the incredible power inherent in the visions Rambaldi saw."

"Of the future, you mean." Jack privately thought he hadn't been the only one reading comic books as a kid, just the only one who understood they were fiction. "If anyone actually had the ability to see the future – a very large if, in my opinion – they would be able to exercise considerable power in financial markets, politics, any number of areas."

"I meant the power of surrendering to the inevitable. Once you know what you have to do, you are free to begin the long process of learning why. You stop struggling against the tide and swim with it. Its force becomes your force, your speed, your strength."

Jack didn't ask any more questions, because he didn't want to hear the answers. Sloane had changed greatly during the 30 years they had known one another, but this was the first moment Jack ever questioned whether he still understood the man at all.

And he knew he hadn't heard the last of Milo Rambaldi.

 

**

_Now_

 

When Nadia had set up the new apartment earlier today, it had been easy to borrow a few candles from emergency stores, and to lay pine boughs on the windowsill that made the room smell soft and inviting. At the time she had thought she might need a romantic atmosphere to make up for their wedding in the snow. Instead the ceremony had been better than she'd dared to dream: the sunset light bathing everyone in rosy gold, and their friends gathered around, and Jack smiling down at her as a few flakes blew down from the branches above. Despite the unorthodox nature of her wedding, and for that matter her marriage, Nadia had spent the afternoon happy and content. As she led Jack into the new apartment, she felt the last way she had ever expected to feel – as though they were really having a honeymoon.

"It's difficult to create atmosphere on military rations," Nadia said, beaming up at Jack as he unzipped her parka for her. "But Rachel flirted with the quartermaster to get us some candles from the storm supplies. We'll have to sneak them back in tomorrow."

"Candles." Jack looked more amused than turned-on, but affection took the edge from his smile. "Well, we wouldn't want Rachel to have gone to all that trouble for nothing."

"Mmm." Nadia went up on tiptoe to kiss Jack soundly. His hands closed around her shoulders, and she thought for a moment that he was literally going to sweep her into the bedroom – ridiculous, but you could be ridiculous like that on your wedding night, couldn't you?

Instead, he said, "Wait a few minutes. There's something we have to take care of."

"Dinner? Do you want potatoes or potatoes? You'd think the mess could've gotten something else this week. Anything."

He looked at her gravely, and she felt her smile begin to fade. "It's about your father."

As she read the message, jotted down in Jack's terse, all-capitals writing, Nadia heard him explaining the Dolman satellite array, the coding method used, all the little details. The words were all but meaningless. All she could see was her father's one stark statement: _Please don't hurt Nadia._

Was it a threat? A demand? Or was it a plea for her protection? And how dare the man who left her for dead pretend to be her protector?

"Nadia?" Jack touched her shoulder hesitantly. "I should have waited to give you this. I didn't want to hide it from you, so I did this. It was tactless. I'm sorry."

"He's only trying to play with our heads. Yours and mine." Nadia's fist closed around the note, crumpling it in her palm. "He doesn't care about me at all. If he did, he couldn't have done that. He couldn't have left me bleeding there to die."

"Yes, he could." When she stared at him, Jack continued, "Rambaldi's followers believe that none of us has any control over our own fates, that everything is pre-ordained. In that case, nothing we do matters."

"If this is how you comfort people, I don't want to hear how you upset them."

"Let me finish. It's obvious that Rambaldi foresaw part of the future. But we still have choice. What we do matters. We all believe that. If we didn't, we'd be on the other side of this fight."

Nadia had never thought of it that way. She tried to envision herself and Jack and Sydney, working with her parents to oversee the world's destruction. Actions had to matter; otherwise, Sloane and Irina wouldn't have had to betray their family to bring about Rambaldi's work. It would have just happened, of its own volition. She knew that, and yet it was difficult to truly believe it. And none of these deeper thoughts exorcised the vision of her father standing above her as she bled out on his carpet.

"I need a few seconds." Nadia pushed away Jack's hand and stalked into the bathroom. There she expected to burst into tears, but surprised herself by staring down her reflection in the mirror. Her throat tightened and her temples throbbed, but she didn't cry one tear.

_Now that I know it was you who was coming for me, I wish I had cleaned up. _

Once her breathing was steady again, Nadia washed her face, slipped out of her snow boots and emerged from the bathroom. Jack had lit some of the candles that she had placed around the apartment earlier – less in an effort to be romantic, she thought, than because he thought it was something she might like him to do. She joined him in the bedroom, where she could see Maxine's shadow flickering in the candlelight. The cat was playing with a bit of string that dangled from the blanket.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, striking another match. "I shouldn't have upset you like that. Not tonight."

"Don't apologize. You were trying to be honest with me. I'm the one who's falling to pieces."

"For the next several months, you have an excuse."

"It's not hormones." Nadia considered this as she sat on the foot of the bed.. "At least it's not only hormones."

Jack stroked her hair, then looked down at her body, frankly evaluating. The waist of her jeans still fit. Nadia wondered when she'd start looking pregnant; maybe then they could start to feel something for the baby, begin to feel like parents.

After a few seconds of Jack's cool appraisal, Nadia struck a mock-sexy pose, back on the mattress and legs arched like a pinup, a joke for her own benefit rather than his. "They sell – well, they used to sell these incredibly frothy gowns and robes for brides on their wedding night. Sequins and chiffon. Ridiculous things. But maybe less ridiculous than blue jeans."

"I don't guess this is the wedding night you dreamed about."

Nadia had to laugh. "Jack, do you really think I spent a lot of time fantasizing about some perfect honeymoon? I never did. Not even when I was a little girl, really."

"You wanted something." He nodded toward the candles as he pulled off his heavy sweater and lay down beside her on the bed.

"I wanted this to feel like our home."

Slowly, deliberately, Jack said, "This is our home."

Whom was he trying to convince? Her or himself? Nadia shifted closer to him, his white cotton undershirt against her cheek. "I never understood the big deal about the wedding night, anyway. Back when brides were more likely to be virgins – maybe then it was significant. You know, I can't imagine marrying anyone I hadn't had sex with. Sort of like buying shoes from a catalog. How do you know if you fit?"

With her head pressed to his chest, she could feel Jack's low rumble of a laugh. "You thought this even when you were a girl?"

"I didn't really get much chance to think about it. I lost my virginity when I was 14. It wasn't exactly romantic."

"14?"

"I wasn't raped. I didn't sell myself, either. I was living on the streets, and a lot of girls I knew did that, but then they got treated so badly. I didn't want a pimp. I wanted somebody to give me attention, treat me special."

"Did he?"

"At first." Fernando had seemed so worldly to her then; probably he had been about 23. Handsome only because of his youth, with his whipcord body and a crooked nose that had already been broken twice. In the cab of his beat-up truck, he had unzipped his jeans and told her when to stroke, when to stretch out on her back. Afterward, he gave her sips of his beer and told her she was beautiful, and she had smiled. "Fernando liked the idea of having a girl. He bought me things, walked around with his arm around my shoulders. He even taught me how to pick locks – and he was good at it, too. He's probably the one they should have recruited for espionage."

"What became of him?"

"I'm not sure. He got picked up for robbery a few months later. By the time he was out of jail, I'd been with other guys. I'd hooked up with Cesar by then, actually. I don't know if Fernando cared or not."

Jack's thumb brushed against her cheek. "It doesn't sound ideal."

"I didn't realize then how pitiful it was," Nadia said. She brushed her sock-clad foot against Jack's. "I'm glad I didn't know. At the time, it just seemed like life. That's all."

They were quiet together for a few moments after that, Jack clearly thinking hard about something, but silent. Nadia wondered what it could possibly be. Some men might've found the stories of her youthful promiscuity troubling, but not Jack. After a man had fucked you against the wall of a Guadalajara whorehouse, you could be fairly sure he wasn't a prude.

Then Jack said, abruptly, "I was 17."

Nadia propped up on her elbows at and stared at him. Jack looked awkward, but he met her eyes evenly. She ventured, "--- you mean, when you first had sex?"

He nodded. "I was on my own by then. My parents died when I was young. I lived with my uncle and aunt for a while after that, but – it was charity, and they never let me forget it. Their sons were redneck idiots. I had to earn my keep, do chores – we lived on a farm – well, I hated it. Not the work, but the fact that I was more like hired help than family. I thought I'd rather have a real job, not to mention the money."

This was all entirely new to Nadia. Jack had never mentioned it – or Sydney, or Sloane. Did either of them even know this about him? Jack's words came haltingly, as though he'd never told the story before.

"So, when I was 16, I left," he continued. "There was a drugstore in town, not far from where I went to school. I'd done odd jobs for the owner on weekends. He said if I'd work every day after classes, and one day of the weekend, I could live in the room above the store. It was smaller than the BOQ, paint peeling from the walls – just a mattress, and my stuff on hooks, because there wasn't any closet. I thought I was a king."

"Because it was yours."

Jack nodded. He was warming to his story. "Most boys that age would've gone wild. I worked and studied, and that was about it. I just wanted to get out of there and figured college was the best way to do it. That meant I didn't meet any girls."

"I don't guess they came to the drugstore that much."

"They did, actually. Drugstores still had soda fountains then, and teenagers would go there to hang out. I served them their burgers and cokes. Wore an apron and a paper hat." Jack's smile was rueful as he steepled his fingers, to show her the shape of the hat. His hands were silhouetted on the wall by the candlelight. "Not the look to drive women wild."

Nadia had begun to laugh despite herself. "Obviously your luck changed."

"There was a woman who worked behind the cosmetics counter. Suzanne." Forty years later, and his voice was still fond when he said her name. "She was 21, dating a guy who was over in Vietnam. Not the smartest girl in the world, but she was cheerful. Friendly. Flirted with me sometimes, but nothing serious."

In Nadia's experience, girls described as not smart but cheerful were usually blonde and busty. She developed a picture of Suzanne in her mind, one in which Suzanne had curly hair and a big, lipstick-bright smile. "Don't tell me. She got tired of waiting for her soldier to come home."

"Other way around. He sent her a letter that told her he'd married a Vietnamese girl in Saigon. She was crushed. Cried for weeks. I put paper napkins behind her counter, so she could clean herself up. Well, once she'd pulled herself together, she decided to go to Chicago with a friend of hers so they could be airline stewardesses. A couple weeks before she left, she came upstairs to my room one night with a cheap bottle of wine. Looking back, I realize that she wanted some reassurance that she was desirable. At the time, I figured she'd had a crush on me for months and wanted to make her move before it was too late."

"It could've been both, you know."

"Possibly. We had our affair for a couple of weeks, and then she went to Chicago with her friend."

"Had you fallen in love with her?"

"No, but I was sorry to see her go. I thought I was only starting to get the hang of it."

Nadia laughed out loud, and Jack chuckled despite his evident embarrassment. She could envision him as a bashful teenager, something she'd never even imagined before, and the image delighted her. They were closer to one another on the bed now, bodies touching, relaxing, warming to each other. "Do you have any idea what became of Suzanne?"

"She was a flight attendant for United Airlines for 20 years. Married, three children. Retired to Pennsylvania. I never investigated further than that."

How like Jack, she thought, to consider that much investigation only the normal follow-up. Everything else about this conversation wasn't like him at all. "You don't usually do this. Talk about – other women. The past."

"I can tell you." Jack paused, then added, "You're my wife."

 

**

_Then_

 

"Just tell me why." Sydney smiled as she put the cup of tea in front of Nadia. Her warmth was genuine, Nadia could tell, but so was the seriousness of her question. "I want to understand. That's all."

"Haven't you ever kept any secrets from me?" Nadia noticed that Sydney suddenly became very interested in the milk for her tea. "My history with Cesar – the truth about Roberto – it was personal."

"Not only personal."

"I thought I could handle it. I was wrong." Taking a deep breath, Nadia added, "Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive. I promise." Sydney grabbed Nadia's hand and smiled. Something about Sydney's smile did more than anything else to tell Nadia that this place – Los Angeles, APO and the apartment they lived in together – could someday be her home. It wasn't yet, but someday. "I just want to be there for you when you need me. I don't want you to think you can't talk to me. Whatever it is, anytime, I promise I'll understand."

Nadia remembered her affair with Jack – specifically the first time she'd gone to his apartment and begged him to tie her up – and thought, _Be careful what you ask for, Sydney._ "Part of it was just that it was so long ago. It's a time in my life I don't think about much, that I'm not proud of. So it's a hard thing to share."

Sydney nodded, accepting this. For a few seconds, the sisters sat together, cozy in their yoga pants and T-shirts, enjoying their tea and unwinding. Nadia thought they might simply drop the subject before Sydney added, very casually, "Cesar was – totally hot."

They both laughed so hard that they spilled their tea. While Sydney mopped at the sofa with a Kleenex, Nadia blinked away tears and nodded. "Cesar was definitely hot. Treacherous and hot-tempered and a smoker, but hot as hell."

"So is that your type?" Sydney gave her a sidelong glance. "Or is Weiss closer to the target?"

Truth? A little truth. "Honestly, I've always kind of had a thing for older men. Roberto – I don't regret killing him, but I don't regret wanting him, either. God, what am I, that I can even say something like that?"

"You don't have to apologize to me." Sydney shook her head. "I killed one of my exes. It was an accident – at least, mostly an accident – but I did it."

"I never get used to the things this family can bond over."

They talked about Noah Hicks for a long time afterward. Nadia had never imagined her sister capable of facing such a thing. Sydney's love life always seemed so apple-pie sweet. Noble, tragic Danny, and good, faithful Vaughn. (Though Vaughn had killed one of his exes too, hadn't he? Maybe he didn't count as apple pie.) Noah, with his dark secrets and his desperation to put the past behind him – he was different.

"Your first love was more like mine than I would've thought," Nadia said at last. "Dangerous. Tragic."

"It didn't have to be tragic. Noah wasn't forced into becoming the Snowman. He got hungry for – money, I think. Power. Whatever it was he needed to escape. But he never saw that he was only digging himself in deeper. If I'd checked my junk e-mail, if I'd seen the code – maybe I could've stopped him."

"You don't know that."

"No. I'll never know." Sighing, Sydney set her empty cup on the side table and smiled at her sister. "What would have happened if Roberto had been honest with you? Would you have taken off? Or do you think you could've changed his mind?"

"Roberto? Never. He knew what he wanted, and he got it." Nadia took a deep breath, then admitted, "I would have worked with him. I'm not proud of that, but I know. I wanted him so badly, by the end – he was the only thing I could think about. The only thing I could see. Cesar might as well have been invisible."

"And Cesar is pretty incredibly visible."

"You know, he's in custody, if you want to make your move."

Sydney tossed a throw pillow at her. "So you would've done anything to be with Roberto Fox. Even the wrong things."

"Yeah." If she shut her eyes, Nadia thought she could still imagine his necklace around her throat. It was the first time in her life she'd truly felt beautiful. "Not forever. Sooner or later it would have killed me. But if he'd told me the truth instead of manipulating me, I don't think I could have resisted him. Besides, the life I led then – I didn't have much to lose."

"I didn't have to make choices like that with Vaughn, but – you know, we couldn't be together at first. It wasn't a rule, but a relationship would have endangered us both, and my dad, too. We knew we couldn't act on how we felt, but that didn't change what we were feeling. I thought about crossing that line. I thought about it a lot." With a shrug, Sydney finished, "So I think I understand, at least a little."

Sydney didn't understand at all, of course. A few flirtatious glances, some longing, two people so manifestly right for each other but held back only by duty – what did that have to do with selling your soul for someone? Nadia would have done that for Roberto; perhaps she had done it, for Jack.

Her sister couldn't hear the whole story, but Nadia wanted to be known for herself.

Hesitantly, she began, "Sometimes you care about someone – and you realize that they're good for you, that they're just good, deep down. And you like them, maybe even love them – but you don't need them. Even though that's probably the person you should be with, that need isn't there."

"Yeah," Sydney said. "I know." She was thinking of someone specific. Nadia wondered who it might be, but she had to get through this.

"Other times – there's someone you know you shouldn't be with. Someone forbidden, someone dangerous, maybe. Everything tells you that it's insane to even think about him. But he's the one you can't stop thinking about. The one you would crawl through broken glass for." Nadia remembered Roberto watching her across the sparring mat, remembered Jack pushing her fur coat off her shoulders as they kissed for the first time. "Right and wrong don't have anything to do with it. Not if he's the one you need."

Folding her hands on the sofa arm, Sydney leaned closer. "Is this your way of telling me that things might not work out with you and Weiss?"

That wasn't really what Nadia had been saying, but it was true enough. "Long-term? No."

"That's too bad. I like you two together."

"We have fun. We like each other. We're simply not right to fall in love." Nadia sighed and patted Sydney's arm. "Besides, what do I need a lover for when I have family?"

Sydney beamed. "You always will. No matter what. One thing I've learned the hard way – regardless of how hard you try to escape it, family is forever."

 

**

 

_Kamchatka Peninsula, Siberia_

 

"You're positive these are the coordinates?" Through her goggles, Nadia could see only driving snow. They had been struggling uphill for almost an hour now, and in that time they hadn't seen a structure or a vehicle, nor any other sign of human presence. No sign of Irina Derevko at all.

"These are the coordinates," Sydney replied, each word clipped. She hadn't said one unnecessary sentence since they left Missouri.

At least it counted as talking; Sydney hadn't spoken to Nadia between learning about the pregnancy and the start of the mission. But knee-deep in snow, suffused with dread and slightly nauseated from morning sickness, Nadia couldn't quite look at their present situation as progress.

They made their way up the next ridge, and Nadia's eyes widened as she saw the house. It was small and unprepossessing – hardly more than a shack. No car sat in front, and the chimney she glimpsed through the snow wasn't smoking. Still, Sydney lifted her chin, clearly pleased to have been vindicated and, perhaps, to have proved her sister wrong.

Sydney opened the door – unlocked, which was interesting – and walked in easily. Nadia would have preferred to check for explosives, but if Irina had only wanted her daughters dead, she could simply have booby-trapped the canister in L.A. When she followed Sydney, she saw that the tiny house was completely bare of furniture. The bricks in the fireplace were loose, and cobwebs laced across every corner. Had anyone been here in the past decade?

While Sydney stood in the main room, apparently at a loss but unwilling to admit it, Nadia stepped toward the back. There, a generator sat on the floor, hooked up to a large, flat-screen TV that hung on the wall. "Sydney?" she said. "Come take a look at –"

Nadia's words choked off as the TV screen snapped on, revealing their mother's face. Apparently the link was sound-activated. Irina was somewhere else – somewhere warm, to judge by the sleeveless olive-green shirt she wore. Wherever she was seemed to be illuminated by candlelight. The scene was set for a master performance, though of what nature Nadia could not yet guess. Irina eyes met Nadia's squarely, and she smiled ever so slightly. Despite everything, Nadia responded to that smile.

"Oh, my God." Sydney walked in, snow still frosting her hair. "Mom. You said you would meet us."

"I didn't think you'd come without a strike team. Surveillance tells me I underestimated you. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"What is it you're sorry for?" Sydney demanded. "Not meeting us, or what you've done?"

"I've only done what I had to do. Someday you'll understand that." Irina focused her attention on Nadia. Her gaze was affectionate, even tender, and Nadia silently sent gratitude to her father. Whatever else he had done to her, whatever sort of a monster he'd turned into, he had at least kept her secret. "Nadia. You're well, I see. You look healthy. Strong."

"I am. I'm fine."

"I needed to see you at least one more time."

"I needed to see you too," Nadia said in a small voice.

"We didn't cross the planet to make small talk." Sydney stepped closer to the screen, as though she were facing Irina and not the as-yet-unseen camera. "Mom, what have you and Sloane done? And why? Millions of people have died – millions, Mom, does that even mean anything to you? I want a reason. I want you to explain."

"You always demand answers that you aren't ready to hear. You haven't changed." Irina smiled, looking for all the world as though she'd met her daughters for tea. "How is Isabelle? Sloane told me the name. I like it."

Sydney snapped, "We're not talking about Isabelle! You don't get to control this conversation, Mom. You tell us what we need to know, or we walk out of here. We need to talk about what the Horizon does and whether – well, whether there's any way around it."

Nadia had to hand it to her; she'd introduced the idea of the Sunset fairly smoothly, and suggested to Irina that they knew something, but far less than they really did.

Irina blinked slowly, like a cat. "What do you want me to say, Sydney? That I don't believe in Rambaldi's prophecies, while they're coming true all around us? I do believe, and by now, you do too, whether you want to admit it or not. Do you want me to say that I regret having to hurt you? I do. But I didn't have any choice, and I still don't. Which is why I can't choose to undo Rambaldi's work."

"You've always had a choice," Nadia said. "You chose Rambaldi, and all this devastation. You chose that instead of us."

"Did I choose to be extracted by the KGB and leave Sydney behind? Or to have you taken from me when she was only a few hours old? We are Rambaldi's creations, Nadia. The sooner you face that, the better. Because, before long, that truth will be undeniable. Rambaldi will demand his final price, and it will be the dearest one." Nadia felt as though her mother could somehow see into her, and she did not like the searchlight intensity of her gaze. "We all know how this ends."

Nadia frowned. "What do you mean, how this ends?"

"The prophecy is very clear. Two sisters will fight, and one will die. All the signs indicate that Sydney will be the one to survive. When Rambaldi's work is done, the two of you will do battle. Eventually Sydney and I will have a chance to make things right in Rambaldi's new world, but you and I – we have to say goodbye." Irina took a deep breath. "Despite everything, Nadia, I want you to know that I love you. "

While Nadia stood there in shock, Sydney stepped between her sister and the TV screen. "I would never hurt Nadia. Never. You want Rambaldi proved wrong? I can guarantee that I would never do anything to hurt my sister. "

"You will," Irina said. "I hate it as much as you do, sweetheart. But you will."

Sydney's eyes were blazing. "Why would I ever – ever – do something like that?"

"It doesn't bother you that Nadia's sleeping with your father?"

Nadia's entire body flushed hot, then cold, the aftershock of surprise and shame. She felt exposed, as though someone had torn off her clothing in public, and angry with herself for that brief, false gratitude toward her father, who had revealed her secret after all.

"I'm not going to kill Nadia because of her relationship with Dad," Sydney said. "Maybe you're petty enough to wish her dead because he wants her now. Personally, I think that if it bothers you so much that Dad has moved on, you shouldn't have left him in the first place. Much less the second place, or the third, or the fourth."

Irina's eyes flashed; Sydney's blow had struck home. "Jack's behavior doesn't concern me, except when he uses my daughters to justify his paranoia or get his revenge. He brainwashed you years ago, and he's playing with Nadia's mind now because it soothes his wounded pride."

"I know my mind," Nadia shot back. "And I know my husband."

Irina raised an eyebrow.

_Trust your judgment_, Jack had said. They needed to get Irina Derevko off-balance, and so far, mentioning her relationship with Jack was the only way they'd managed to do that. Nadia folded one hand over her still-flat stomach. "Jack divorced you. He married me. You see, we're expecting a baby."

Instead of losing her cool, Irina seemed to regain it. She was very still now, like a statue – until, unnervingly, she smiled. "An unplanned pregnancy. Uncharacteristically reckless of Jack." Her dark eyes bored into Nadia's. "When you told him, he could only have been – horrified."

It hurt like hell, but Nadia kept her face impassive. "I think he's had worse surprises. Don't you?"

"Stop this." Sydney put her hand on Nadia's arm, and at first Nadia thought she was speaking to mother and daughter both – but she was glaring only at Irina. "Dad doesn't do a damned thing he doesn't mean to do. They're having a baby because they want a baby, and he's married to Nadia because he doesn't want you."

Irina stood up, the top of her head almost out of the camera's frame. Behind her, a sliver of window revealed the night sky. She wasn't angry. She was pleading. "Sydney, not you too. I've taught myself to accept losing Nadia, and I can bear losing Jack, but I can't lose you."

"You already have."

"No, sweetheart." Irina smiled. "Rambaldi knew better than that. We'll be together."

Sydney pulled her gun and aimed at the viewscreen. "Fuck Rambaldi."

The blast made Nadia jump, and the viewscreen went black and shot sparks before thudding to the floor. Nadia looked around quickly, then saw the small box that served as the camera. She took her own gun and smashed the butt down on it, blinding their mother and ending the meet.

For a few long seconds, neither of them could speak.

The rickety old house rattled as an icy blast of air blew through the many cracks in the walls. Nadia at last ventured, "Not a moment for the family album."

"She's in Namibia." Sydney slid her gun back into her belt, a crooked, angry smile on her face. "We can get to Africa within 24 hours if we play our cards right."

"What?"

"You saw the window!"

"The stars, the horizon – I agree, it's got to be Namibia, that or maybe northern South Africa. But we can't j go on our own. We have to get the team, tell Jack, assemble the strike force."

"Dad's judgment about Mom can't be trusted."

"Sydney, this isn't just about Jack! We need support if we're going after Mom. Maybe you think she wouldn't hurt us, but after that conversation, I'm pretty sure she'd hurt me."

"I wouldn't let her." Sydney choked on the words, and even though she still wouldn't look directly at her sister, for the first time in weeks, Nadia knew that she was still loved. When it had come down to it, Sydney had defended Nadia and Jack. "Nadia, I have to do this. Ever since I saw my face on page 47, I've known that it's my responsibility to stop Rambaldi's endgame. I've failed – every single time, I've failed –"

Nadia shook her head and held one hand out, but just as her fingers were about to touch Sydney's arm, Sydney jerked away. "You haven't failed anyone. You've fought harder than anybody, and you've saved us all more times than I can count."

"Not the time that really mattered. I left Dad – I left him to die, to die, and it was the most horrible thing I'd ever done, but I told myself that I'd stopped Sloane and I could stop Mom, and that made it worth it. But I hadn't. It was for nothing. Just like everything I've fought for since the day Danny died has been for nothing."

"Have you been torturing yourself like this ever since Mongolia?" Nadia felt so stupid, so blind – assuming that all of Sydney's anger and depression the past few months had been about her affair with Jack. "You have to stop thinking like that, Sydney. It's wrong, and it's going to kill you."

"I can stop thinking like that when I've stopped Mom and Sloane for good. I finally have a chance, and I'm not about to sit around and waste it."

"Before we do this, we need a plan. We need backup. I know we can make Jack listen to us if we go to him with a plan. We have to go back to the base and work with everyone, instead of just – running off."

"You're stalling. You're buying them time." Delay wasn't calming Sydney down; it was making her more upset and unreasonable. "You don't want to go after your father – even now, after everything."

"Sydney, no! That's not it!" Was that it? Nadia wasn't sure, but she knew they needed APO with them, regardless of how she felt about her father. "Please, listen to me."

"I'm going, and I'm taking the ATV. I'm not taking the satphone. You can come with me, or you can call APO. Your choice." Sydney stalked away. Nadia didn't follow. The door slammed shut, and Nadia was alone.

Sydney was gone to face their mother on what might be a suicide mission. Nadia would have to call and explain all this to Jack. She was alone in one of the coldest, most desolate places on earth, still reeling from the exposure of her mother's pain and anger.

But none of that mattered, Nadia told herself fiercely. Sydney was right about the most important thing: They had a lead on Irina's location, which meant they finally had a chance to turn the tables.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

 

Now

 

Kamchatka Peninsula, Siberia

 

"Evergreen, repeat." The intensity in Jack's voice drowned out the static and made him sound as though he were near. "You can confirm Namibia as a location?"

"The position of the Southern Cross in the sky definitely says she's in southern Africa, but not so far as Johannesburg or Capetown. That has to be it, or close."

"We have an address for Hans Brenner in Namibia – a fairly large estate, to judge by our records. He hadn't been there in a long time, so it was low on our priority list of places to check."

"Just shot up to number one."

The wind blew at such a gale force that the tiny house shook again, and a few of the smoldering fragments of Irina's viewscreen scuttled across the floor in the drafts. Sydney was out in this, alone; if the satphone had not agreed to work for the first time all day, Nadia would've had to be out in it too. She imagined her sister struggling through the storm, driven by guilt and anger. Sydney was running away from Nadia – and Nadia realized, even if Sydney did not, that she was defying Irina's interpretation of Rambaldi's prophecy, "proving" that she would never hurt Nadia. But in doing so Sydney was rushing toward a confrontation she wasn't able to win.

Clearly Jack's thoughts resembled her own. "Sydney must not go against your mother alone."

"Mom won't kill her. She made it pretty clear that I'm the only daughter she's willing to see dead."

Jack breathed out heavily. "We'll examine that later. I don't think Irina would harm Sydney, but she would certainly hold her captive. She'd see it as a chance to get through to her. In short, we have to transport a team to Namibia before Sydney gets there."

"We have planes and people and money. Sydney is on her own."

"You know how Sydney is when she's determined." In a contest between the entire world and his daughter, Jack evidently would bet on his daughter. "We'll send a plane for you; Dixon and Vaughn will be on board. From Siberia, the plane will go to Namibia – one refuel, max. Mumbai can probably help us. You'll get there, attempt to capture your mother and stop Sydney, if you can."

"Where will you be?"

"While you were on your errand, we got reports of weapons shipments into Istanbul."

"Don't tell me. We also found an address for Brenner there."

"Which means that, if Irina is in Namibia –"

"My father is in Turkey."

As the wind shook the house again, Nadia looked out the window at the blinding, swirling expanse of white. The world seemed to have shrunk around her, just a few pinpoints of light that had to stand for all the rest: Istanbul, Namibia and this one tiny house in Siberia. She imagined herself in a snowglobe, shaken for someone's puerile amusement. "This is our best chance, isn't it?"

"After this they'll know we're on their trail," Jack admitted. "If they haven't destroyed the Sunset, they probably will after this."

"Only if they get away. And they won't."

"Are you ready to do this? To go after your mother?"

"As ready as you are to go after my father," she sighed. "It's enough. It has to be enough."

Jack was quiet on the other end of the line, and Nadia wondered what he might be thinking. She knew him as intimately as she knew anyone, by now, but she could not guess where his head was at this moment. Was he imagining the ugly confrontation between Nadia and Irina? Contemplating what he might say when he finally saw Arvin Sloane again? No, she decided, Jack was probably worrying about Sydney.

He said, "Sydney has contacts in Siberia. They're probably still good."

Nadia cradled the satphone close, almost tenderly. "Her contacts can't get her to Namibia faster than you can get us there, right?"

"I'm sending the supersonic plane. They'll reach you in about seven hours." He paused. "Are you all right? You're secure where you are, everything's taken care of –"

"I even have food." This rickety house hardly counted as warmth or shelter, and a couple of PowerBars wasn't that much in the way of sustenance, but they would keep her alive. Jack could do nothing to help her beyond sending the plane, so Nadia saw no reason for him to worry more. "I'll be fine."

"All right."

_We didn't really say goodbye_, she thought. When she and Jack had parted ways in Missouri, Sydney had been there on the tarmac, displeasure radiating from her. They had simply clasped hands for a second. That was all. If Nadia had known they would be going up against her parents within the day, she would have at least kissed Jack goodbye. But she was not the sort of person who spent much time regretting lost chances, not anymore.

In the background she could hear people shouting, not in panic but in a rush; the order to move out had already been given. Nadia said, "It's time for you to go."

"Dixon and Vaughn will be there soon," Jack said. "Hang on."

"Stop worrying."

"I'm not. I know I don't have to worry about you." Maybe some wives would have found that unromantic, but Nadia knew what he really meant and smiled.

She said only, "Come back to me." Then Nadia shut off the phone. Rarely was she the one to hang up first. She looked out at the whirling snow and imagined that she saw her father's face in the patterns of ice.

**

 

_Then_

 

Jack slowly wound the leather around Nadia's wrists, watching her face intently as he tightened the strap, then fixed it around his bedpost. Her eyelids half-lowered, relishing what he had just done.

"Why do you like this?" he murmured.

Her full lips turned downward in a pout. "I didn't come here to be psychoanalyzed, Jack."

"I realize that. I want to know what you did come here for."

Nadia stretched sinuously across his bed. She wore only black lace panties and a brown silk shirt, already unbuttoned enough for Jack to see the golden skin between her breasts. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want. To do that, I have to understand why you like it when I do this." Jack tightly circled one bare ankle in his hand to make his point.

"How much of me do you need?"

Nadia said it playfully, but Jack understood the deeper question. She was giving him her body; by asking her these questions, he was demanding that she give him something of her spirit, too. That was what he wanted, to know her inside and out. Was it a kind of domination? A way of exposing her vulnerabilities, so that he could look Sloane in the eyes every morning and silently spear him with that secret knowledge? A reaction to the fathomless mystery that had been Irina Derevko? Jack didn't know, and he didn't much care. When they were in bed together, nothing mattered but what they wanted, and he wanted this. "Tell me," he said, his voice low.

She lay quiet for a moment, then said, "For you to take control."

"Why do you want me to have it?" Jack considered a moment, then took a soft black cloth from the bedstand and tied it around her eyes. Ever since she'd begun coming over, he'd acquired provisions for their occasional experiments with bondage. Nadia lifted her head so that he could thread it around her. He knew she would still be able to see, but only slivers of light and movement.

"So I won't."

"Why do you want to surrender control?" He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. "Do you feel guilty about being here?"

"No. I mean – sometimes I do, but that's not why. I liked this even before you, you know."

Jack didn't like the mental images that created. He filed them away for later, in case she wanted him angry. "Then why?"

"I think it's fear," she said. "Facing my fear. Giving myself up to you – it's a little scary."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Mostly."

Not entirely. Jack supposed that was the ideal scenario for the games they were about to play. He fastened another leather strap around her ankle, tugged it tight and slung it around one of the bedposts, down by the floor. Then he looked down at the third strap that lay across the foot of the bed. In the past, he'd used this to bind Nadia's other foot to the opposite post, so that she was spread-eagled on the bed, laid open to whatever he wanted to do to her. By now, that was what she expected. Time to defy her expectations, test her limits.

"You'd better start trusting me," Jack said quietly, as he slipped off his shirt and began unbuckling his belt.

"Why?" Her heart had begun to beat so hard that Jack could actually see the fluttering of the delicate skin between her breasts. "What are you going to do?"

"We need a signal."

"You mean – what, like a safe word?"

Jack folded his pants on a nearby chair. "You won't be able to talk."

Nadia hesitated, arousal mingling with uncertainty, making her cheeks flush. Seeing the confusion on her face, even with her eyes blindfolded, made Jack's own pulse go faster; he stiffened almost instantly as he watched her. He wasn't ready to touch her yet, so he took hold of his cock, slowly running his thumb across the tip. She parted her lips, as if to speak, but instead she snapped her fingers, once, twice: the signal for Jack to stop, if he went too far. Time to find out just how far that might be.

"Hold on." Jack folded another of the soft black cloths into a gag. He brushed his fingers over Nadia's lips, and she opened her mouth; Jack slid his thumb inside and let her suck for a couple of moments, hoping she could taste the moisture there. Her tongue brushed against the pad of his thumb, as though tracing his fingerprint. Then Jack pulled his hand away and pushed the cloth gag between her teeth. It was too large to stuff inside her mouth, but it was big enough to muffle her voice and make it necessary for her to breathe through her nose. Nadia bit down on it willingly.

Now. Jack eased onto the bed, his knees straddling Nadia's untethered leg. He took the third strap in his hands, tested the strength of the leather with one firm snap, then slid the end beneath Nadia's neck. Her entire body tensed, but Jack kept going, swiftly sliding the end through the buckle and tightening it until it just circled Nadia's throat.

For a couple seconds, Jack waited. Nadia didn't snap her fingers; she lay beneath him, trembling and shocked, but she did not want him to stop.

Slowly, Jack tightened the strap. Nadia's breaths came more shallowly – she could still breathe, but not that well, and he knew that already she could feel the effects. Dizziness, warmth, adrenalin pouring into her veins from both fear and the impulse to fight. She made a low, frightened noise in the back of her throat, but she still didn't snap.

"Good," he murmured, releasing the strap. She breathed in so deeply that her nostrils flared. Jack unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way, them pushed the brown silk aside so that her breasts were exposed. Her nipples were flushed red and so taut they had to ache. "That's good."

He pulled the strap tight again as he lowered his head to her breast and started to suck. Nadia writhed beneath him, and he knew that the undertow of asphyxiation was mingling with the sensations his lips and tongue created, combining pleasure and panic. His cock was so hard now that it hurt.

Again, he released the strap, just as he stopped sucking. Nadia's entire body shook now, but she arched herself up against him. She wanted more.

Jack tugged at the strap, watched her struggle for a moment, then pushed her legs further apart and thrust inside. He'd meant to make it rough, to mix pleasure and pain again, but she was already so wet for him that he slipped easily inside. Heat claimed him instantly, and he had to shut his eyes.

Release. A shaky breath from Nadia, while Jack remained perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside her. Tighter. And now he could push into her, taking it slow to start with, so that it could build for them both. Release. Again. Jack found himself holding his breath when the strap was tightened, so he could feel some shadow of what Nadia was feeling – heart quickening, sparks of strange light beneath his eyelids, a tingling sensation that swept over his whole body, enhancing every touch, every movement.

He brought himself to the brink – and Nadia too, to judge by the way her entire body had tensed beneath him – then released the strap again and pulled out, to stop himself from climaxing too soon. Jack pulled the gag from her mouth, allowing her to gulp in one big breath (enough oxygen to make her reel) before he kissed her, deep and sloppy. Nadia returned the kiss eagerly, and he was the one who broke away for breath first. As they both gasped, he stuffed the gag back into her mouth; she accepted it more eagerly than before.

_Now_, he thought. Jack thrust into her once more as he pulled the strap taut; the leather was moist with his sweat, slippery and raw between his fingers. He went faster, then faster again; that was what Nadia liked at the very end, for him to go so fast that he could hardly hold back. She was struggling now, but Jack knew that was because she was getting close.

They reached the moment when he usually let the strap go. This time he didn't. Nadia's head thrashed from side to side – still no snap – and Jack kept holding his breath with her, so he could feel the darkness, the heaviness, and the rush of tingling sensation that took over completely –

Nadia stiffened and cried out, so loudly that he could hear her clearly through the gag. Jack let go of the strap and braced his hands against the mattress, so that he could get even deeper into her. He let himself breathe in and rode the rush for the few moments it took him to come.

As soon as he could move, he pulled the gag from her mouth, then rolled to one side. They were both breathing hard. Jack's body felt loose and clumsy, as though he had forgotten how to move; he managed to untie Nadia's hands, then flopped beside her. Her trembling hands lifted the makeshift blindfold, and he could see that she was shaking al over. "Nadia. Are you all right?"

"I – yeah. Yeah."

"You're sure – I didn't –"

Nadia kissed him soundly, then lay her head atop his chest. They were both slick with sweat, their bodies hot as fire everywhere they touched. "I never did that before."

"Me either."

"You're joking." She looked into his eyes, then shook her head. "You certainly know how to improvise."

They lay together in silence for a long time after that. Jack caught a couple strands of her hair between his fingers and toyed with it. He had enjoyed himself immensely, but the very fact of that enjoyment unnerved him. From time to time, he would kiss her forehead or her hair so that he could taste the damp salt on her skin and breathe in the scent of her.

Nadia spoke first. "You had me completely."

"Did you like that?"

"Yes. Did you?"

A breath. "Yes."

"You don't like that you liked it." She rolled onto her belly, elbows on the blanket, so that she was looking him squarely in the face. Her eyebrow was arched – challenging him, even after what they had just done. "Do you like hurting me, Jack? Do you think it's like hurting my father? Or my mother, maybe?"

"That's not it," Jack said, hoping he was telling the truth. "Do you like being hurt?"

"Not so much. I think it's the fear – the uncertainty, at least. I like not knowing what's coming next."

"You wouldn't say that about getting shot at."

"It's not the same thing – but you know, I like that a little, too. At least, I like remembering it. It's like you don't know that you're alive until that moment."

"So you like being scared."

"Maybe." Her dark eyes sparkled, as though she had been the one who had held the power of life and death over him a few seconds ago, not the other way around. "Maybe I like scaring you."

"You do that well enough already."

Nadia toyed with the dark gray hair on his chest, smiling broadly, her round cheeks flushed. "We face death too often not to have fun with it sometimes. Don't you think?"

Jack reminded himself that the only thing worse than screwing this girl would be falling for her, and prayed that he wasn't yet that stupid.

**

_Now_

 

Istanbul, Turkey

 

Rain fell from the sky in sheets, cloaking the city in gray anonymity. Jack could hear a call to prayer from a distant mosque, but he could not see much beyond the slick cobblestones beneath his feet. He wore a long tan raincoat with its hood flipped up. Raindrops beaded at the edge, just visible at the corner of his eye.

A heavily pregnant woman ran across the road in front of him, holding a scarlet shawl above her head as a makeshift umbrella. She stumbled at the curb, and Jack's hand went out toward her instinctively. But she didn't fall. He watched her duck into a nearby arched doorway and squint up into the sky. The storm had robbed the city of the last hours of dusk; it was already almost as dark as night.

_Nadia's on board the plane_, he reminded himself. The communiqué had come through only moments before his team had disembarked. For now, she was warm and safe. In only an hour or two, though, she would be in Namibia, preparing to face her mother – Sydney would too, once she made it that far. They would be in danger, beyond his help.

Jack forced himself to focus on the here and now. If their intel was good, he'd have to deal with Arvin Sloane very soon, which meant he had his own danger to deal with. He would have to trust in Sydney and Nadia's strength; it was the best insurance he could have asked for.

But he glanced down at the pregnant woman's belly as he walked past her, and wished he had an umbrella to give her as protection against the rain.

Once he was past her, Jack put one hand to his ear. "Oracle, Houdini, report."

"I've already checked two of the three addresses we had for Brenner in the Asian quarter," Weiss said via transmitter. He sounded slightly out of breath. "Right now I'm headed to the third one, which happens to be located up the steepest steps in the history of the planet. Oracle, how's by you?"

Rachel's annoyance was evident despite the static on her connection. "I'm wearing a chador and I'm ankle-deep in mud. Also, the address I checked? Now it's a Turkish bath."

"Did you inspect the bath?" Jack said.

"I – no, it looked like a typical tourist joint."

"Probably it is. But we have to be thorough. Get rid of the chador, head back as a tourist and check it from top to bottom."

"As in, enjoy a massage and sauna? You're the best boss ever."

Jack resisted the urge to snap at Rachel; she and Weiss were joking around as a way of dealing with stress, which was a valid approach even if he found it irritating. "Just check it out. I'm close to my target. ETA five minutes."

"We'll check in on the quarter hours," Weiss panted. "If I live that long. Houdini out."

"Oracle out."

Impossibly, it began to rain harder. Jack swore beneath his breath, but he could see the advantages. The streets were nearly deserted, which meant their movements weren't being observed.

He reached the street he'd been seeking and frowned. As he'd thought, this was a residential neighborhood, one clotted with shoddy, pre-fab apartment complexes that had been hastily erected during the population boom of the past decade or so – not, in short, a likely locale for a Rambaldi laboratory. Then again, he wouldn't have expected that in a cave in Mongolia, either. Jack walked to the specific address, or at least where it should have been. Thanks to the new construction, Brenner's former residence didn't exist any longer.

Jack paused, considering. He counted the numbers on the flats and calculated the precise spot where Brenner's address had been; it correlated with what looked like a service door, dented metal that had been spray-painted black a while ago. In the pocket of his raincoat, next to his gun, was a standard lock-picking set. Within a couple of seconds, he'd jimmied it open.

The hallway was ill-lit, just one light bulb dangling from a chain in the distance. In one corner, a mop had been left to mold in a metal bucket. Jack looked down at the floor and saw that there were already a couple of puddles – rainwater, tracked in from the downpour outside.

In other words, even though this hallway appeared to be all but abandoned, somebody had walked through within the past hour.

Jack pulled back the hood of his coat and took his gun firmly in one hand. Call Houdini and Oracle? No, he didn't have proof; he might yet go downstairs and find some kids smoking cigarettes. He also didn't want to endanger Oracle's cover, surrounded as she now was by obsequious personal attendants at the Turkish bath. No, better to investigate further on his own.

But as he made his way to the end of the hall and began quietly walking down the concrete steps, Jack felt utterly certain that he was about to face Arvin Sloane again.

_"Everything you've done to my daughter won't begin to compare to what I'm going to do to yours. Salud." _

It had been a bullshit threat, meant to convince the guards who watched them more than Arvin himself – though Arvin had believed it, as Jack had known and bitterly enjoyed at the time. Jack had been suspicious of the girl, back when she was "the girl," just a name on a file folder or a wan figure in gray they'd just rescued from custody. He would not have moved against her without evidence of wrongdoing, but he'd fully expected to find such evidence sooner rather than later. One conversation, and she was Nadia.

He imagined Arvin's narrowed eyes, his searching, disdainful stare. _You tell me that you never looked at her and saw Irina and me? _

Jack was not the kind of man who could answer that question out loud, but he knew that he did see Arvin Sloane and Irina Derevko in Nadia, every day, the parts of them that he had loved, and still loved. It wasn't the reason they were together – there was no one reason – but it was there, this echo of the two people Jack had cared for most, but lost.

Arvin knew only that his daughter was involved with the man who had sworn to avenge himself on her. By now, he might have spoken to Irina and also learned that Nadia was pregnant. If Jack had been presented with a similar scenario, it wouldn't have taken him as much as one second to shoot Sloane directly between the eyes.

He readjusted his grip on the gun as he edged further down the stairs – which spiraled down deep, far more than any utility room would be – and resolved not to allow Arvin even that second.

After he'd gone down perhaps 50 feet, Jack was enclosed in near-total darkness, but even as he was evaluating the risks and benefits of using a flashlight, a faint golden glow appeared from below. He was nearing his goal. As Jack kept going, moving a little faster now, he began to hear an odd sound, a strangely familiar buzz-and-pulse: a Mueller sphere.

There was no way he should be this close to a Mueller sphere, not without Sloane's security kicking in. This was the work of someone else, someone careless – or else someone completely confident –

Jack rounded one more corner to find himself face-to-face, gun-to-gun, with Irina. Neither of them moved; neither fired.

Then Irina gave him a bloodless smile. "I hear congratulations are in order."

 

_Oranjemund, Namibia_

 

"Leave it to Irina Derevko to get real estate in one of the hardest cities in the world to enter," Vaughn grumbled as he pulled a black stocking cap over his sandy hair.

"Brenner probably had an interest in the mine that she inherited. That would have gotten her in." Nadia strapped her chute across her chest, unsurprised that a world riddled with plague, war and inexplicable natural phenomena would still be avidly interested in the diamond trade. Who knew what else would still be valuable, in the wrecked economies that would follow?

Oranjemund existed solely to service the diamond industry. DeBeers had built an oasis in the desert almost a century ago, tiny palaces of Edwardian grandeur to house the greatest merchants, appraisers and cutters in the world. Every inhabitant was spoiled with fine wines and imported luxuries, fragrant flowers and swimming pools, so that they would forget that they were fenced in, de facto prisoners of a monopoly. Despite the fact that millions of dollars' worth of jewels were in Oranjemund at any given moment, word was that nobody had ever smuggled one out – a testament not to human honesty, but to the laser-sharp scrutiny of the city's security.

But they hadn't enclosed the city in a dome – yet – which meant that a parachute drop would work just fine.

Dixon shot Nadia a look as he adjusted his own chute. "You're sure you're up for this?"

"I told you, I'm fine. I've slept, I've eaten, I'm good."

"That's not what I mean."

"You mean that I'm not ready to face my mother."

"Wrong again."

Nadia realized that Dixon was talking about her pregnancy. The jump wasn't without risk, but Nadia felt sure she could manage. And if she didn't stop her mother and father, what kind of world could her child expect to inherit?

_"When Rambaldi's work is done, the two of you will do battle. Sydney and I will have a chance to make things right in Rambaldi's new world, but you and I – we have to say goodbye." _

She shivered at the memory of Irina's voice. Nadia was not afraid of confronting Sydney here – even her capable sister wouldn't be able to get into Oranjemund without backup – but she still felt the deep chill of her mother's certainty that the prophecy would be fulfilled.

Jack had said that if Rambaldi was right, it didn't matter what they did. So they might as well fight on. "I'm good to go," she said. "Let's jump."

They fell through darkness. The wind whipped at Nadia's face, and through her goggles she could see only pinpricks of light, not enough to gauge distance by. When she'd finished her count, she pulled the cord, then winced as the chute's straps jerked her hard. Through the whistling wind, she could hear other chutes unfurling; Dixon and Vaughn would hit their targets too. The ground slammed into her feet, and she stumbled forward onto her hands and knees. Quickly, Nadia slashed through the cords and began balling up the evidence of her jump. She heard a click of plastic and an electronic whirr; recognizing it as the satphone, she walked toward the noise.

Vaughn knelt nearby, goggles around his neck, adjusting the controls. He would be looking for a signal on a wavelength that no ordinary consumers would use, one that only certain, very rare types of electronics would be able to pick up. Just as Dixon joined them, the satphone whined, then began to speak in a Afrikaans accent: "—for next week's shipment, as follows. 10 pounds pork tenderloin. 20 pounds salmon." Another, more distant voice, protested about the unavailability of salmon in a world without regular shipping lanes. "Get it or the best possible substitute. To continue, 10 pounds lamb, 2 pounds salt –"

"Great," Dixon muttered. "These guys use this bandwidth for their lunch orders."

"Wait." Nadia held up a hand. The list kept coming, becoming more and more specific – a certain type of fois gras, preferred vintages for wine. This wasn't a supply list for an entire city of people: It was a list for one person who didn't expect to receive shipments very often. Someone who wanted to remain well-hidden. Someone with exquisite taste.

Vaughn studied her face in the darkness. He whispered, "Evergreen? Do you think this has something to do with your mother?"

"No. I think it's my father."

Too late, Nadia understood some measure of her mother's unearthly calm during the Siberia meet. It had been a performance, yes, but not only for her daughters; Irina had also been projecting control for the benefit of the man who sat slightly off-camera, stealing one more look at his daughter and at Sydney, whom he probably loved even more. The Namibia compound was Sloane's base of operations, not Irina's.

_Jack_, she thought._ He went to the other base in Istanbul. That's where my mother is. _

No chance to warn him now – they had to move. Nadia looked up to see Dixon, newly energized; next to her, Vaughn rose and shouldered their supply pack. "I can't exactly fix the location with this, but let's face it. Sloane's going to be in the biggest house, and he's going to have private guards. We should be able to find him before long."

"Let's move," Dixon said Nadia fell into step with them, mind still reeling.

Why had her father insisted on being part of the meet? Did he want to watch Nadia's humiliation at Irina's hands?

Or was it possible that, despite everything, he had wanted to see her alive?

**

 

_Istanbul, Turkey_

 

Irina backed up – not surrendering, simply allowing Jack to walk down the last few steps and into the basement chamber. It was an enormous space, perhaps 50 feet high, dominated by the huge Mueller sphere that whirled in one corner. The black metal frame nearly scraped the ceiling, and the red surface of the sphere rippled and smoothed, over and over, in a strangely mesmerizing pattern. Jack didn't allow himself to look at it for long. They kept their guns trained on each other.

"When is Nadia due?" Irina asked smoothly. "She didn't say."

Jack longed to tell her it was none of her damn business – but it was certainly her business. His second child would be her grandchild. "We need to discuss what you're doing here."

"We both have guns, Jack. That means neither of us gets to set the agenda. We'll actually have to have a conversation – difficult, I know, but you'll get the hang of it."

"Fine, we'll talk. You go first."

"You know what I'm doing here." A blinking grid of lights outlined Irina – a control panel, Jack realized, with screens and graphs that no doubt were keeping watch over her works worldwide. She would not let him walk out of here after seeing that. "What I have to do. What I was born to do."

"You still think Rambaldi controls very move you make. Thanks to you, I've been in prison often enough to know what it feels like. It's not fun. That must have been your entire life." Jack said it to taunt her, but the truth of it echoed painfully within him.

"Didn't you read my name on Rambaldi's box?"

"A lot of women have been named Irina over the centuries."

"Were their daughters drawn into Rambaldi's manuscripts?"

"The woman on page 47 could be anyone."

She actually laughed at him. "His work has split the world in two, and you still refuse to believe."

"I understand that Rambaldi saw glimpses of the future," Jack said, startling himself somewhat. "His inventions clearly match or surpass 21st-century science. I don't doubt his genius or the fact that his precognition was – at least, judging by current technology – supernatural."

Irina stared. Slowly, her face softened into something Jack could only call pity. "I was going to ask you why you were arguing with me, if you've learned so much. But now I see."

"Explain it for me."

"You don't want to accept all of his prophecies because you don't want to accept that Nadia's going to die."

Jack felt it like a bath of icewater, but he refused to budge, even to frown. "No, I don't accept that."

"You truly care for her, then." Her eyes were sad. "She's more like Laura than I ever was. Maybe you've only been in love with one woman all along, Jack. You simply cast two different actresses in the role."

"Spare me the psychoanalysis. I think we're both far past the point where it could possibly help."

"Undoubtedly." Irina smiled, just a little, and he felt the familiar tug of understanding. It was this that had always drawn him back to her – not her beauty, not their chemistry, not even their shared love for Sydney. It was the fact that she understood him more deeply than he did himself that tore Jack open and let the words spill out.

"You could have stopped this at any time," Jack said, his voice low. "You didn't have to steal the Horizon. You didn't have to fall out of contact after Sevogda. You didn't have to refuse every single request for us to meet up as a family after Sydney escaped the Covenant. You didn't have to betray me in Panama --"

"You didn't have to shoot me." Her voice was ice, but Jack was beyond such easy distractions.

"Precisely. If you'd just told me what was going on, I wouldn't have shot that thing that looked like you. I would have helped you."

"I'm sure you'd like to think that."

"I would have done it!" Jack shouted. "Not out of the goodness of my heart, no. You and I both know that's hardly a consideration. I would've hated myself the whole time, but I would've helped you because I was your fool whenever you wanted me to be. If you'd wanted to get our family out of this mess and spare us Rambaldi's insanity – spare the entire world – all you ever had to do was say the word."

"Don't you think I wanted to?"

The question caught Jack short. Irina's gun was steady, but her eyes were bright. In the hellish glow of the Mueller sphere, her hair and skin were both the color of blood.

She whispered, "I used to lie beside you at night and compose confessions. While you slept, I would look down at your face and imagine what it would do to you when I told you the truth about who and what I was. I did that for the first time years before Sydney was born. And I never stopped, Jack. The night before I was extracted, I made love to you – do you remember?"

Snow falling outside. Soft blue light from the window painting her body above his. The word_ love _whispered into his open mouth. "I remember."

"After you fell asleep, I went into the hallway and cried for hours. At any moment, I might have walked in and told you everything. I watched you while you slept in Panama, too. Every step I took from Sevogda, I wanted to turn around and come back."

The other life he might have had was visible to Jack, only for a second, painfully bright. "Irina – why didn't you?"

"It wouldn't have done any good. It couldn't have changed anything. Our lives were written centuries before we were born."

Sick and hollow, Jack stared at Irina in disbelief. Despite all the odds against them, despite the countless betrayals they had suffered at each other's hands, in the end, nothing had doomed his relationship with Irina except Irina's conviction that they were already doomed. One act of faith from her – maybe from him, too, if only he had known the moment when he saw it – and everything would have been so different.

That was only what might have been. He had to deal with what was, what would be.

"You're wrong," Jack said. "Nadia's going to survive."

"She won't. Her death will destroy me, but it will happen, no matter what we do."

"Does Sloane believe that? Is that why he was willing to leave Nadia bleeding to death on his floor?"

Irina cocked her head. "Of course," she said, as though it were obvious. "Either of us would change her fate if we could. But when Rambaldi's work is done, Nadia dies."

"You chose when it began! You get to choose when it ends! You'll twist reality in any shape you want to get the outcome that fits your idea of how it 'was written.' You may have spent your life in a jail, Irina, but you've always held the keys."

She blinked. "You know about the Sunset."

Jack could have torn out his own tongue. It had been a small slip, one that nobody else would have picked up on, but Irina had caught it in an instant. Now Sydney and Nadia had made the Siberia meet for nothing, and –

Irina fired. Jack dodged as soon as he heard the shot, skidding across the floor toward the only cover he could see, a metal table he knocked over and ducked behind. Almost immediately he registered that she had not intended to hit him, but that was cold comfort given that the stalemate had ended. Now Irina was in control.

"Irina, think," Jack shouted. "You don't have to do this."

"Are you going to tell me it's not too late?" Her bootheels clicked against the concrete floor. Jack did not yet dare to look around the edges of the table, but he could tell Irina was walking toward the control panel. "It was too late before we were born."

**

_Then_

Los Angeles, California

 

"Visitors sign in here."

The orderly said it casually, but Jack glared at him, displeased to have to record his whereabouts. Fighting his instincts, Jack handed over his real ID and signed his actual name to the form.

He had never come here – not once in three months. Sydney visited frequently, taking comfort from her sister's presence; she told Jack that she talked to Nadia about the baby, but never about Vaughn. "I only tell her happy things," she'd said, her eyes suggesting the rest of the answer, _Only the truth. _

Jack wished he could have been half as honest with Nadia. The lies he had told were for her own good – he still believed that – but she had prized the truth, and she had been honest with him time and again, about the most personal sides of herself. What little intimacy he had granted her had all been unwilling. Nadia had deserved better.

The hardest part was walking through the door to her room and seeing her for the first time. Nadia lay in the hospital bed, pale and limp. Tubes were taped to her arms and nose, and the blue hospital gown she wore hung on her strangely, as though it had been only half-tugged on by an impatient orderly. The thought of Nadia so exposed and vulnerable, so utterly dependent upon people who did not know or value her, cut Jack to the quick.

He wanted to talk to her. Absurd, to want to talk to an unconscious person; Jack did not harbor comforting ideas about words from loved ones awakening the comatose.

Besides, given the venom of the last conversation he'd had with Nadia, he didn't count as a "loved one" in any sense, not any more.

And yet, he had to speak. "Hello," he began. His voice seemed to echo in the room. Jack shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands still at his sides. There was no response but the unchanging beeps of the machines.

"This seems pointless," Jack continued. "You can't speak, and you probably can't hear, which makes this an exercise in – I don't know. The expiation of guilt?" Silence – but this time, Jack could imagine what Nadia would have said. "Contrary to popular belief, I do sometimes feel guilt."

As he stepped closer, Jack remembered the last time he had seen Nadia in a hospital bed. He had awakened her from a coma prematurely, to save Sydney and protect others besides; then, at least, he had known that Nadia's suffering served some purpose. This was pointless, tragic and cruel.

What else should he say? The things that Sydney wouldn't say, maybe – the unhappy things that were, nonetheless, the truth. The awful truth was what he had always denied Nadia before.

"Your father remains in jail. He has a hearing next month, but the odds are against him. He could still be executed for violating his plea bargaining agreement; I'm doing what I can for him, but I don't have much influence with the people who make these kind of decisions." Jack paused, remembering how little Nadia had known before Elena infected her. "He was on our side all along, you know. On your side. You probably remember that he hurt you, but he did it to save Sydney. I think that's what you would have wanted."

Nadia would have died for Sydney in an instant. Jack knew the feeling well, but for decades, he had assumed that he was the only one who felt that way. Though he now accepted Irina's love for Sydney, he thought it possible that she loved other things more.

"We haven't heard from your mother. I've made a few efforts to contact her, as Sydney has. With the baby on the way – naturally, we wanted to share the news. And if anything in this world would get Irina's attention, you'd think it would be that. But nothing. I don't know what to think. I won't assume the worst, not after my error last time. But I don't think we can afford to be optimistic."

How stupid of him, to talk about optimism while Nadia lay in front of him as still as a corpse. Jack walked to her side, close enough to take her hand. He didn't. She wouldn't have wanted him to touch her again. It had to be enough for him to look down at her.

"Your prognosis isn't good," he said, his voice low. "Your coma – they can't explain it. Your body doesn't seem to be atrophying the way most comatose patients would. In fact, you're in perfect health. But you won't wake up. Some of the doctors think you never will."

What else could he say? What else would be true? Jack realized what was left – the hardest thing of all for him to say – and forced himself to get it out.

"For what it's worth, I don't believe it. I think you'll recover. I don't have any reason for believing that, but I do." Jack took a deep breath. "You know me well enough to know that I hate admitting to anything that isn't quantifiable fact. When I ask myself why I think you'll get better someday, the only answer I have is faith. That isn't an answer at all. But I believe it anyway, Nadia. If something in you is still alive and awake, you haven't given up either. I know that much."

_Two sisters will fight, and one will die. _

Jack shook off the memory of Irina's voice. He smiled down at Nadia, as though she could see.

Before he'd come to the hospital, he'd told himself it was just to make himself feel better. Instead, he felt worse. It was horrible to look down at Nadia, lost and pale, and know that he could not help her.

At least he had told her the truth, just this once.

**

_Now_

 

Oranjemund, Namibia

 

The compound had approximately a dozen guards. They'd faced worse odds, Nadia thought, as she crawled across the cool grass toward the house. The satellite phone hung from her belt and banged against her hip as she went. Dixon was coming in from the east, Vaughn from the south. She had the north, and the ocean would guard the west.

Nadia kept her eyes focused on the house ahead. It lay on a wide grassy area slightly separate from the other elegant homes, befitting its size and grandeur. Palms surrounded it, their wide fronds silhouetted against tall arched windows that glowed soft gold. The terracotta-shingled roof seemed to float above the building, sunset orange atop ivory stucco. It was just the sort of place her father would admire.

Just as she reached the side of the house, the satellite phone buzzed. Nadia shrank against the wall and cupped her hands around it, ready to curse Vaughn for doing something so stupid.

But it wasn't Vaughn who was calling.

"Arvin." Irina's voice was part of the shadows. "They know about the Sunset."

_Shit_, Nadia thought.

A pause, and then her father spoke, his words crackling through the speaker. "That's hardly surprising, Irina. They've been researching Rambaldi's work for years, in no small part thanks to our efforts."

"Listen to me. Sydney and Nadia only met with me as a pretext for disguising how much they knew. I believe that they understand the Sunset's full potential. And if they've found me here, they can find you there."

"Wait. Your location has been discovered?"

"Jack's here."

Nadia gasped. She waited for her mother to say something else, anything – was Jack a captive? Dead?

Her father said, "Leave him alive. I intend to speak to him."

"Your more elaborate revenge theories were ill-placed, Arvin. You want to save Nadia from Jack, he wants to save her from us. If she could be saved, this fight would be worth our time, but it's not. " Static echoed on the line, Nadia's only epitaph. "I'm in control of the situation here. You have to take care of things on your end."

"Destroy the Sunset, and we run the risk of bringing Rambaldi's work to a head."

"It will happen whether we want it or not."

"When Rambaldi's work is done, Nadia dies." Sloane's voice shook. "I will not hasten that. Not by one second."

Nadia remembered lying in her own blood, trying weakly to reach up to her father as he ran away. She had thought from that moment until this that he'd fled because he didn't care if she lived or died – at least not compared to his love for Rambaldi. Now she saw the truth. He had thought her death inevitable, regardless of the choices he made, and he couldn't bear to witness it.

It wasn't an excuse. It was only an explanation. But it was more than she'd had before.

_Dad still loves me. _

I still have to stop him.

Bracing her hands against a windowsill, Nadia started to climb. She was supposed to cover the roof, and she would, regardless of what she heard. As she pulled herself up, stucco scraping her palms and chalking her fingers, the conversation continued.

"We have to protect his work. You know it as well as I do."

"It will happen whether we protect it or not, Irina. It took me a long time to see that. To accept the fullness of Rambaldi's power. We can let these things happen in their own time."

"We can't. That's not what we're here for."

_Let these things happen in their own time. _ Her father did not want her to die, but he was sure he could not stop it. So he wouldn't lift a finger to hurt her or to help her.

When she reached the roof and got to her feet, looking out over the twinkling lights of Oranjemund, a strange, dizzying sensation swept over her. At first she thought it was the physical exertion – her reaction amplified, perhaps, by her pregnancy – but quickly Nadia realized it was something more. Something different, but not unfamiliar.

No, it was very familiar. This landscape, this place, all of this -- she knew it very well.

_I've seen this before. During Rambaldi's visions – I've been here. _

This is where it happens.

Nadia blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. Even if she was right – even if the fulfillment of prophecy was at hand – this was no time to panic. She had work to do.

And if she had really seen this in Rambaldi's visions, then some of the things she'd seen in Rambaldi's visions were also close, including the Sunset.

Quickly, Nadia began pulling herself up the arch of the roof, trying to orient herself. The more familiar this was, the better; it meant that she was getting closer to the Sunset. Her heart pounded faster, so much that she could barely catch her breath. She had to force herself to remember the most frightening visions of all, the ones encased most deeply in dread and pain. Everything seemed to be at a great distance, as if filtered through a thick green cloud.

As she clambered over the east wing of the house, Nadia felt a powerful wave of déjà vu. This was close. Maybe this was it.

She looked out over the edge of the house, hoping to orient herself, then gasped. In the ground below was a shimmering oval of light – a pool of some sort, she realized. She knew this place. Why did she know it?

Nadia stood up for the first time since she'd gotten upon the roof. The moment her legs straightened, she realized that she wasn't alone – only one second before the blow smashed across her back.

She staggered backward, throwing a punch without aiming; she made impact with her attacker, but only glancingly, and not in time to stop the next impact to her jaw. The roof jerked out from under Nadia's feet, and she tumbled to the edge. Desperately she clawed for purchase, the orange tiles scraping skin from her palms, but she was skidding, slipping, falling –

\--and then a hand grabbed her wrist.

Nadia stifled a cry of pain as the shock ripped through her elbow and shoulder, then looked up and saw Sydney.

"Hang on!" Sydney whispered, her eyes wide. Her fingers were white with strain as she tried to pull Nadia back. "I've got you – oh, God, no, no, I've got you –"

Too late, Nadia realized what had happened. Sydney had followed her hunch, used her sources, and made the trip as far and as fast as they had; Jack had been right not to underestimate her. She had reached the roof of this mansion first, heard an intruder, assumed it was one of Sloane's security guards, and attacked.

"Sydney." Nadia swallowed hard. 'The Sunset. It's here."

"What?"

"It's here -- beneath us – oh, God!"

Sydney's grip failed, and Nadia jerked downward. Their hands clasped, so tightly that it hurt, but Sydney's hands were slick with dew, and Nadia knew she didn't have long.

"I've got you." Sydney was almost sobbing. "I've got you. Hold on – I'll try –"

"Get the Sunset. You're the only one who can."

Their hands slipped, and Nadia fell.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

 

Oranjemund, Namibia

 

Nadia tumbled downward, still reaching up to Sydney, until –

_No! _ The hurt slammed through her, back of her skull to the small of her back to her feet – agonizing and cold, and there was no air – she couldn't breathe – water. She was in the water.

Almost paralyzed by pain, Nadia jerked her head upward and gasped for air. Her feet kicked weakly, scraping against the bottom of the shallow pool. There hadn't been enough water in this pool to truly break her fall, but it was enough to drown her if she couldn't sit up.

But when Nadia, still dazed and aching, tried to sit, something hot and sharp seemed to slice through her, so severe that she screamed.

Flopping backward, Nadia got a nose full of water before she could turn her head and gasp in a little more air. The pain wasn't lessening; it was getting worse. With one hand, she managed to clutch a stone at the edge of the pond and steady herself slightly. Something wiggled past her half, and she realized that it was a fish.

_Koi fish, golden and orange, swimming not through water but through blood._

Why did she know this? Why had she been here before? Confused from shock and pain, Nadia could not remember. Images and memories lay all around, sharp-edged and scattered, like shards of broken glass.

Then she thought of Sydney, and looked up toward the roof. For one second, she saw the pale oval of her sister's face. Memory, hazy and uncertain, flickered in Nadia's mind: the mission, the Sunset. She willed Sydney to go, and at that instant she vanished.

That left Nadia here alone.

She tried to pull herself toward the edge of the pond, but anything other than the smallest movements hurt so terribly. Nadia kept bobbing beneath the water, bobbing up again, splayed out and tangled in lily pads. Koi fins brushed against her cheek.

Shouting began echoing through the courtyard, and Nadia realized her scream had attracted security. That was good; that meant they wouldn't be in position to see Sydney. Their cries would draw all the attention. Sure enough, a figure soon appeared at the side of the pool. Her vision was too blurry to recognize him, but she knew who it had to be.

"My God," her father whispered. "Nadia."

 

**

 

_Istanbul, Turkey_

 

"We made a deal," Irina called, her voice echoing through the underground chamber. "If I answered your questions, you would answer mine. You like to accuse me of breaking my word, Jack. Are you going to break yours?"

Jack said nothing. As he crouched behind the metal table that provided his only cover, he analyzed the situation, trying to find some way to turn it to his advantage. Two cards were up his sleeve – Weiss and Rachel, who would come to this location when Jack failed to report in and would probably make the same deductions he'd made to find Irina's hideout. However, they would only now be realizing that he was in trouble; this meant that they were at least half an hour away. That was half an hour he wasn't sure he had.

Irina was armed. So was he. He could attempt to kill her – to protect Nadia and Sydney, he would – but in any shootout between two such expert marksmen, the odds were only 50/50. The stakes were too high for that kind of gamble.

That left him with only one alternative: Stall for time.

"I'm not the liar in our relationship," Jack shouted.

"You, not a liar?" That won him a harsh laugh.

"You'll notice that I said, in our relationship. It's not difficult to be the honest one when you're the competition."

"Our relationship." Irina's voice sounded closer. Jack gripped his gun more tightly. "Do you think your wife would be pleased if she heard you talking that way?"

"Nadia understands that you and I have unfinished business."

"Does she understand that you're using her? Maybe for revenge – maybe just to hide from your fears. Take a pretty young wife, get her pregnant, and for a while, you can pretend that your world isn't falling apart all around you. You can pretend that there's a future. But there isn't. Not for Nadia."

"You gave up on her years ago. I haven't."

"Jack the optimist. Tell me, do you really think it would've worked out? Can you honestly see it, two or three or ten years down the line? Gray hair and old wounds and retirement around the corner - just the husband for a woman like Nadia. Do you think you'd be a better father this time? To a child younger than your own grandchild? If I were a betting woman – and I am – I would bet that you'd never once envisioned what that life would be like for you and Nadia, a decade down the line. You've never imagined it because you know it will never happen."

He leaned his head backward so that it rested against the metal table. Irina was always at her deadliest when she was right. Jack didn't believe that Nadia would die as Rambaldi prophesied – not even now – but he had never imagined their marriage past the next several months. They had married to legitimize their child and to provide shelter and comfort to each other in a crisis; when the child was born and the crisis over, what would be left to hold them together?

If love were enough, he and Irina would still be together. Instead, she was probably about to kill him.

Jack thought of Sydney out there fighting, beyond the reach of Irina or Sloane or anyone else. Could she stop this? Could anyone? Then he thought of Nadia and willed her strength. Whatever doubts he had, whatever weaknesses he was guilty of, he would not give up on her. He would not surrender her to Rambaldi yet.

**

"Dad?"

Nadia was too weak to fight, in too much pain to sit up. Sloane sank to his knees by her side, his eyes wide. One of his hands dipped into the water to support her head above the surface.

"You're here." He spoke with the wonder in his voice that had once been reserved only for Rambaldi. "I wasn't sure I would ever see you again."

"Dad." She knew that she was still angry at him, that he had betrayed her, that she had not forgiven him. But she was beyond any of that. "Help."

Sloane bent to cradle Nadia in his arms, then slowly eased her into a sitting position. She winced, screwing her eyes shut as she struggled not to cry out. God, why did it hurt so much? Her back wasn't broken, but something was terribly, terribly wrong. The pain was unlike any other she had ever known.

When she could open her eyes again, Nadia realized that the koi pond was tinted red with her blood.

"Sir," one of the guards interjected. Obviously none of them knew how to interpret Sloane's embrace of the intruder. "There might be others."

"No," Nadia gasped. Water droplets trickled down her face, and her hair was plastered to the back of her neck. "I'm alone."

Her father didn't believe her. "Klaas, I want you to –"

"Dad." Her hands tightened around his arms as she pleaded with him. _ I need to buy Sydney as much time as I can, even if it's just a minute. That might be all she needs to reach the Sunset. _ "A doctor. Please. The baby."

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Nadia felt like a fool. Her father and her mother both believed her as good as dead already. Rambaldi had written it; she herself had foreseen it. Why would he call a doctor to prevent the inevitable? And why would he want to save a child he thought was the product of revenge?

Sloane said, "Klaas, go for the doctor. Get him here now. The ambulance too. All of you, go."

"Sir, we have to check the grounds."

"Go!" Sloane shouted. The guards scattered, doing what he ordered.

_Nobody's searching the house. Sydney's got to be inside by now. She'll find the Sunset. _

Then what? Nobody knew precisely how the Sunset operated, not even Nadia, who had seen it in visions. Yet as she gasped for breath against her father's shoulder, she realized that there was a reason nobody else had seen it. That was left for the Chosen One. It was Sydney's destiny, just as it always had been. Her sister would understand it as nobody else ever had or could, and she would activate the Sunset. Maybe the rest of them were cogs in some incomprehensible machine, but not her sister, not Sydney. That was why she was on page 47 – the image of free will made manifest. The undertaker of fate. Sydney would claim the Sunset as though it had belonged to her all her life. Rambaldi's work would be undone. Nadia would die.

_Jack, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I'd told you goodbye. _Maybe, at least, Sydney would have time to reach her side before the end.

"You didn't save me," Nadia whispered to her father. Cold and cramping seized her, and she began to shake.

Sloane pulled her close, his hands bracing her so that she was as still and comfortable as possible. "Sweetheart, I would do anything to save you. Anything."

It would have been so easy to take comfort in that, but this close to the end, Nadia had no use for lies. "Not – not give up Rambaldi."

"Even that. I did before. I would have again, if I'd thought it was possible." His fingers brushed wet strands of hair from her forehead. "Nadia, I wish it were possible. Morre than you can ever know. You've always done that to me. You make me want to believe."

She sobbed once, a hard racking pain in her ribs. For this moment, only for this moment, however imperfectly, Nadia had her father back. The dirty little girl at the orphanage with her smudged face and torn clothes held out her hands, so that she would be picked up in her father's arms and twirled around as if she could fly.

He leaned her head against his chest. "Has Jack taken care of you?"

When her father had listened in on her conversation with her mother, he had heard her defiance about their relationship. Nadia was glad to have defended Jack, not because of any childish contest with Irina, but because it had given her father comfort. And she wanted to think of Jack now, to have him with her in this last terrible place. "He loves me."

Sloane still clearly did not entirely believe it, but he breathed out, something that might have been a sigh or a sob. "You needed to feel loved. I'm glad Jack – I'm glad someone could give you that. If I had been stronger, I could have given you –"

Suddenly, a high-pitched siren began to wail throughout the compound. At first Nadia thought it was a security alarm going off, but then she realized that the eerie sound wasn't electronic. It was organic, alive, as vivid and beautiful as a soprano's aria.

Her father went rigid. "The Sunset." He looked down at her, dark eyes wounded. "You weren't alone."

Nadia gave the only explanation she could: "Sydney."

He shifted, and she thought he was about to drop her in the water and go to the Sunset. Could he still stop it, prevent it from ending Rambaldi's dominion over the world? He could, Nadia realized, despair eclipsing her pain. If he didn't have time to stop Sydney, he wouldn't be looking over his shoulder like that, ready to run.

But he didn't run.

Sloane looked down into Nadia's face again, and he smiled. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen.

His other arm hooked beneath her legs. As her father lifted her, Nadia cried out again – but the hurt was getting farther away now. A strange numbness had begun to wrap itself around her; it had claimed her feet and hands first. The rest would follow. He settled her next to the koi pond, pillowing her aching head on soft grass.

Sloane's lips pressed against her forehead. Then he flinched – and again –

Nadia stared as her father sucked in a long, shuddering breath. Bruises began to appear on his face, and deep red bloodstains blossomed upon his shirt. At first she thought it was her blood, but they were getting so big, so fast, as though he had been shot.

_All Rambaldi's work will be undone. _

The Stripe. The earthquakes. His Mueller spheres. His immortality.

The bruise on her father's forehead widened and began to bleed. Nadia realized that it was a bullet wound – the wound Sydney had given him months ago in Mongolia. All the injuries Rambaldi's immortality had cured were coming back.

Killing him.

"All a lie," Sloane rasped. His eyes met hers, his face terrible and streaked with blood but he smiled. "Live."

He collapsed beside her. Nadia hardly even had the strength left to turn her head to him, but she didn't have to in order to know that her father had died.

_Sydney did it._ Any sense of victory was far away. Her father's dying wish was one she thought she wouldn't fulfill.

She thought of Jack again. Wherever he was, he was safe now. Sydney would forgive him, and he would be a father and a grandfather and have a good life, safe from Rambaldi forever. It was all she had left to hope for.

"Nadia?" That was Sydney, coming closer. Running, maybe. "Nadia! Can you hear me?"

Nadia looked up to see her sister's face again, pale and horror-struck. She seemed to shimmer, then to waver, like the reflection of the moon on a lake after a pebble is thrown into the water. The ripples grew and grew, robbing the light of its shape until they stole the light completely.

**

_Istanbul, Turkey_

 

"What do you intend to do, Irina?" Jack shouted.

She didn't answer immediately. If he'd caught her off-guard, that would slow her reactions down and buy him a little more time. A quick glance at his watch revealed that Weiss and Rachel were due to show up virtually any moment.

After almost a full minute, Irina's footsteps came closer to the metal table that separated them, which served as Jack's only cover. "I don't know."

"You admit there's a contingency you haven't planned for?"

"I've imagined plenty of things to do with you." Irina's voice was dry. "Particularly since hearing about Nadia. But now that the moment has arrived – I'm not sure."

Jack didn't doubt that she was willing to kill him, if it came to it. If she weren't, APO headquarters would never have been bombed, and Thomas Grace would still be alive. Her reluctance was probably the closest thing Irina Derevko felt to sentimentality. It was easier for him to think of it that way.

There were only three ways this scenario would resolve itself. One, Weiss and Rachel would arrive with backup in time to turn the situation around; this was the optimal situation for Jack, but he couldn't count on it. Two, Irina would kill him. Jack had time to get off a shot in return, but he didn't relish the idea of killing her – again – much more than he did the idea of being killed in return. Three, he would be taken prisoner. What lay down that path, he didn't know, but it probably involved confronting Arvin Sloane again.

Would he ever see Nadia or Sydney again? Or Isabelle, or his unborn child? Without an answer to that question, Jack realized that the question of whether or not he lived was largely irrelevant.

"I would change this if I could," Irina said. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes and no."

"Unlike you to equivocate."

"I believe that you don't think you can change anything. And I wish like hell I could wake you up."

He heard the metallic snap of a gun being cocked. Jack readied his own weapon and braced himself for the worst.

The ground began to move.

Vibration rippled through the floor, so strong that Jack nearly lost his balance. The low thrumming that had dominated the room changed pitch, sliding slowly upward toward a screech. Red light that had glowed softly brightened into a glare.

_The Mueller Sphere,_ Jack thought. _Something's going wrong._ Then he remembered the Sunset and the claims that it would undo all Rambaldi's works – including Mueller devices – and his heart swelled with hope.

"Jack!" Irina appeared around the edge of the table, and Jack's hands tightened around his gun, but she wasn't there to hurt him. She held out a hand. "Run!"

He shoved himself to his feet. The most obvious place to escape was the staircase, but Irina was moving toward a door at the far end of the chamber. Jack followed her, running as hard as he could, as the Mueller Sphere's death shriek whined higher and higher.

Superheated air slammed into Jack's back, the way it did after an explosion. Instead of a boom, he heard only the rush of water, overpoweringly loud. Even as he ran, he remembered the tidal wave that had claimed Los Angeles. His desperate flight to save Nadia. Her face looking up at him from the middle of the roaring, swirling water –

"Go!" Irina reached back, grabbed the lapel of his trenchcoat in one broad hand and flung him ahead of her; he barely stayed upright as he slammed through the door. He recognized the rubber seal around the edges only after he'd staggered through. Jack hit the far wall just in time to see Irina slide after him and slam the door shut.

She shoved down on the locking mechanism, which screeched in protest but clanked into place. That instant, the water hit the door, a sound not unlike that of a crashing car. The metal buckled inward, but the door held. Fine sprays of water hissed around the edges, misting Irina's hair and Jack's face.

"You saved my life," Jack said.

"Yes." Irina wiped damp bangs from her forehead. She was breathing hard. "We have to get to the surface."

"Yeah. We do." Jack pushed his gun against her temple.

She stared at him, incredulity fading into sadness. Despite their panicked flight, Jack had not missed the moment when Irina dropped her own weapon; she'd done it so that she would be able to rescue him. "This is my reward?"

"I'm sorry." His voice shook on the last word, and he forced himself to stay in control. "But I think you know what it means to – not to have any other choice."

 

**  
_  
Then_

 

Los Angeles, California

 

"What are you doing?" Jack could have strangled Sloane. Very few things he had ever seen had shocked him as deeply as the sight of Arvin Sloane attempting to murder Nadia – his own daughter, in cold blood, it was impossible –

Sloane didn't look repentant or insane. Instead, he braced himself against Jack's arm, watching Nadia with an expression almost like joy.

And Nadia moved.

Jack felt it, physically felt it – like the sting of a steaming-hot shower after hypothermia had almost set in. His entire body responded to something that was both profound shock and deep gladness, just from the sight of Nadia pawing at the tubes taped to her face and slowly opening her eyes.

Everything was confusing after that. Orderlies and nurses began crowding into the room, asking a dozen questions at once. Nadia and Sloane only had eyes for each other. Jack had questions – the timing of Nadia's awakening was curious, to say the least – but this was not the time to ask them. He completed his first duty by walking into the hallway and calling Sydney to deliver the good news.

"You're sure? You're absolutely sure?" Sydney sounded as though she wanted to leap directly through the wireless signal to materialize instantly by her sister's side. "It's not like last time, not just some momentary thing."

"It doesn't appear so. I can hear her talking, and she sounds – rational. Collected. Nadia's definitely awake."

"I'm calling Rachel this second. She said she would babysit if there were ever an emergency, and this has got to count as an emergency – oh, Dad. Everything's almost right again."

He knew what she meant. As they closed in on Prophet Five and the Horizon, the day when Vaughn could return home came nearer. At this point, that was the only obstacle between Sydney and near-perfect happiness. That was reason enough for Jack to be happy – but it wasn't the only reason. "Get here as fast as you can. I'm certain Nadia is anxious to see you."

As soon as Jack hung up, Sloane appeared in the hallway, brimming over with errands for Jack to run and details he had just thought of. Jack remembered how he had felt when he first saw the tape of Sydney as "Julia Thorne," and how his shock at seeing her a murderer had been only a small speck in depthless relief. He didn't begrudge Sloane one moment of this.

The first words Sloane said that made any sense to him were, "Do you want to go in and see her? Say hello?"

Jack remembered the last conversation he and Nadia had shared before the trip to Sevogda, when she had made it fairly clear that she would hate him until he died. "No, that's all right. We'll catch up later. I don't want to tire her."

"Of course." Sloane's hand closed over Jack's shoulder. "I think she brings out the thoughtful side of you, Jack. Just as Sydney always has for me."

That was one way of looking at it. In the light of Sloane's happiness, Jack could not take offense to the mention of Sydney. "I'll handle things at APO. Tell Nadia – tell her I said hi."

Inadequate, perhaps, but most of Jack's olive branches were.

Jack spent most of the next three days either at work or babysitting Isabelle while Sydney remained with her sister. Isabelle made delightful company, and she seemed to enjoy spending time at his house; she focused on few things farther away than her own chubby hands, but the cat was one of them. Jack suspected that, as soon as Isabelle could walk, Maxine would have to learn how to run. He played with the cat as often as she could be enticed close to the baby carrier, because it always made Isabelle laugh. He loved his granddaughter's laugh – and she absorbed all his attention, and so kept him from brooding about other things.

All the same, Nadia was never far from his thoughts. They would meet again soon, and when that happened, he would have to find a way to broker a truce between them. The last time they'd talked, she'd explained how she would have screwed him and then killed him if she'd known the truth about Irina – which didn't bode well.

Nadia's love for Sydney would guarantee her silence. It did not guarantee anything more than that. A tense relationship between the two of them would cost him time with Sydney and Isabelle, time that was Nadia's by right and that she should not have to share with a man she had good reason to hate. Jack could not deny any of that. He hoped only that they could be civil, maybe even casual, so that Sydney would never concern herself with the division between them. Given that Jack had managed to work side-by-side with Arvin Sloane for years, he thought he could hold up his end of that bargain. Nadia was controlled enough to do the same, if he framed it as something they should do for Sydney's sake.

If he wished for more – that was just loneliness talking, that and the ache left by Irina's latest betrayal. Jack refused to consider that there could be more to it than that.

Their reunion came sooner than he expected, and by surprise. Sydney's flight back from Bolivia was delayed by poor weather, and she called and begged Jack to take Nadia some dinner. "I promised I'd bring her something, Dad. She's so sick of applesauce and yogurt, and today's the first day she can have real food again. Sloane's got that meeting thing, right? I hate to think about her first solid meal being hospital food."

With Isabelle already in the capable babysitting hands of Robin Dixon, Jack had no excuses. He swung by Red Pagoda and got a few simple things that he remembered Nadia had enjoyed.

(Picnicking in bed, Jack with his back against the headboard, covers to his waist, Nadia sprawled naked across the foot, Chinese cartons between them. Nadia offering Maxine bits of shrimp with the chopsticks. Jack not caring about the mess or anything else, not as long as he could see Nadia laughing. The long golden line of Nadia's body, especially the swell of her ass and the small of her back.)

He pushed those memories aside before he walked to the door of her hospital room and knocked. When Jack walked in, Nadia's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"Dinner." Jack held up the Chinese food bag. "Sydney said you could have real food today. She was held up and couldn't come herself."

"And she asked you to come by."

"Yes. If you'd prefer that I left this here –"

"No, stay. " Nadia smiled awkwardly. "Thanks for dinner. If they'd brought me any more butterscotch pudding, I think I would have thrown it at someone."

Jack could imagine it quite clearly, but he suppressed his smile. As he took out the cartons and set them on her tray, he stole a few glances to measure how she had changed. She was thinner, paler too, and her hair had grown long. But she looked healthy and strong, which was all that really mattered. When her food was set out and she had a bottle of water, he took his own carton of noodles and went to a chair in the corner. Nadia said nothing as she grabbed a bit of chicken in her chopsticks, popped it into her mouth – then covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes began to water.

"Nadia?" The solid food must have been too much for her. "Are you all right? Should I get a nurse?"

She shook her head and slowly let her hand drop, so he could see she was smiling. The tears were joy. She chewed for what seemed like a very long time, then swallowed and sighed. "That – was – the best. The best ever."

Relieved, Jack turned back to his meal. "I'm glad you like it."

"You don't know how much you can miss swallowing. Biting. Tasting." Several minutes passed during which all Jack heard was chewing. Then Nadia broke the silence. "You came to see me."

"I thought I explained. Sydney wanted me to bring dinner."

"Not tonight. Before I woke up. You came to see me."

"Ah. Yes." Jack felt embarrassed, as though she had been eavesdropping.

"I just wanted to say thank you." Her face was inexpressive. But if Nadia looked at him without tenderness, she also was without anger. "You didn't give up on me. That meant a lot."

He gave her a small smile. "You couldn't have been killed that easily. You're too – stubborn."

"You didn't give up on me," she repeated. "There were moments I had given up. When I thought I was dead but still breathing. Even then, it meant something to me, that you believed. Even if I'd died, I would've known that you never gave up, and it still would have mattered."

"I'm glad."

Nadia took a deep breath, then glanced away from him toward the Red Pagoda sack. "Did you order any egg rolls?"

"I would hardly forget the egg rolls."

She grinned. Nostalgia warmed the room, but only for a moment. Jack finished his dinner and bid her farewell without saying any of the countless other things he longed to say.

 

**

_Now_

 

Istanbul, Turkey

 

"Brenner's people were all over that Turkish bath." Rachel had nothing on her but a black eye and a large, securely wrapped towel. She sat on a small chair in the passageway that led to the street, taking shelter from the rain with Jack. Although Weiss had already detailed their daring escape, Rachel clearly still needed to work through it. "God, I thought there was no way I was getting out of that. None."

"And then Weiss came to rescue you."

A delicate pink blush appeared on Rachel's cheeks. Jack suspected that this daring escape had resolved some of the unspoken attraction between Weiss and Rachel; if Jack had participated in the informal APO pool as to when this would finally happen, he would have won at least a hundred ration points.

They had called in a full team to sterilize and clean the subterranean chamber where the Mueller device had blown. Reports were coming in from around the globe: Flood waters had receded, the aurora borealis around the equator had faded and thousands of people seemed to be recovering from the Stripe almost instantly. Although some of Rambaldi's damage could not be undone – Los Angeles was still in ruins, London still black, the dead still dead – the Sunset had changed things for the better and forever.

Irina had been handcuffed and now sat, under guard, in the transport truck. She would be handed over to United Kingdom custody; MI6 knew her as a leading Rambaldi follower, though the CIA had kept confidential the information that identified her as one of those most responsible for London's destruction. Jack would make sure that information remained confidential. At least by hiding the fullness of her role in the nuclear attack, Jack could make sure that the United Kingdom wouldn't rethink their stance on the death penalty. Protecting Irina was something he owed to Sydney and Nadia, maybe to Irina too.

Weiss poked his head into the hallway. "Jack, can I talk to you a sec?"

For a moment, Jack couldn't answer. He knew that Weiss had heard something from the Namibia team, and that if the news were good, Weiss would simply have said so. Rachel hugged herself, eyes darting nervously from Jack to Weiss. The world seemed to have no color, only gray stone and gray rain.

Jack went to Weiss' side, and they stepped slightly outside the passageway to stand on the pavement. A small awning gave them some shelter from the rain, but not enough; drops pattered on the shoulder of Jack's trenchcoat. "Report."

"They activated the Sunset – obviously, of course. It was in Namibia the whole time. Turns out it was Sydney who did it."

She made it, despite everything. His pride was almost painful. Jack took a deep breath. "Did Sydney survive?"

"Yes. She's alive, she's fine. Dixon's fine. Vaughn's fine." Weiss' hesitation lasted only a moment, long enough to made Jack's stomach drop. "Apparently Nadia got hurt."

Jack had to swallow before he could speak. "How bad is it?"

"She's alive. In the hospital – they had to fly her to Johannesburg, but she'll be okay." That should have been a relief, but it wasn't, not while Weiss' eyes were so shadowed and his voice so hushed.

He didn't care for delicacy. "Weiss, just say it."

"Nadia lost the baby. I'm sorry, Jack."

Jack said nothing and didn't move. The entire world had gone still except for the rain.

"There was some kind of accident up on the roof. Nadia fell. Sloane came out there, and it sounds like the guy tried to help her. Kinda late to start acting like a father, if you ask me." Weiss flushed, probably embarrassed to have said the word "father" to Jack at that moment. He blundered on. "Sydney used the distraction to activate the Sunset. Nadia lost a lot of blood, but they got her to a doctor in time."

"I have to go to Johannesburg." That was the only thing Jack could focus on. "You're capable of handling things here."

"We've got it. Don't worry about any of this. Just go."

He hesitated for only a second. "Arvin Sloane?"

"Died of his old wounds when the Sunset was activated. They found him next to Nadia." Weiss took satisfaction in this news, evidently, but was realizing that Jack did not. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." He reminded himself that he ought to be glad he would never see Arvin Sloane again. Seeing his old friend now – understanding, at last, the reason for his servitude to Rambaldi, the countless lost chances they'd had to restore the man Jack had befriended so long ago – Jack couldn't have endured it.

He wanted to head directly for the nearest car, but he knew there was one more thing he had to do. He walked through the rain to the transport where Irina was being held. The guards parted to let him through, so he could step up on the back bumper and climb inside.

Irina sat with her hands cuffed behind her back and shackles on her ankles. Her wet hair was slicked to her head; they hadn't covered her when they brought her outside. She didn't really look at Jack as he came toward her, his shoulders hunched so that he would fit beneath the tarp covering. Instead she muttered, "The Horizon must have other purposes, but what? We have to study – we have to find out –"

"Sydney and Nadia both survived." Jack knew he ought to tell her about the miscarriage, but he could not. It was too raw to speak aloud. He could not have borne Irina's ridicule at that moment; if she genuinely pitied him, that would be even worse. "I'm going to them now."

"If they're alive, then this wasn't the time of prophecy. We have to determine when that time is, Jack. Everything depends on it. We can't understand what's happened here until we've decoded what Rambaldi really meant."

She would live in prison the rest of her life, both the physical cell in Britain and the mental one she had constructed for herself.

"You can talk about that with Sydney sometime. I'm sure that eventually she'll want to visit you. Maybe Nadia – Nadia too." His voice had tightened on her name, but Irina was too dazed with shock to notice. "I won't see you again."

"Because you're leaving."

"Irina – I won't see you again."

That got through to her. Irina turned her face up to his, her eyes unreadable. "You say that now."

"This is real. I need you to understand that."

"Do you know why I believe you? Because you don't sound angry at all."

Jack had once thought his rage at her was depthless; now it was gone, utterly gone. He almost missed it. "Goodbye, Irina."

She closed her eyes. "Goodbye, Jack."

He jumped out of the truck without looking back. Water puddled in his shoes for the few seconds it took him to start walking.

**

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

 

Another hospital bed, another paper gown. Through the dull haze of medication, Nadia wondered if maybe she were still comatose and everything that had happened between then was only a long dream.

Sydney stood at the side of her bed. "Can you hear me? Or are you just not talking to me?"

"I can hear you. I'm talking to you. I just – I can't concentrate." Nadia brushed aside a lock of hair with the back of her hand. "They've got me pretty drugged up."

"I was telling you that I'm sorry." Sydney's eyes were red, and streaks lined her cheeks. She must have been crying a lot; Nadia couldn't quite remember. "Nadia, if I'd known it was you – I would never have hurt you."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"But the baby." Sydney's hand shook, so that the metal rail along the side of Nadia's bed rattled. "I was so mean about the baby, but I wouldn't ever have – done anything to –"

"You couldn't help what happened. You tried to save me. I know that."

Sydney nodded, but apparently wasn't reassured. She looked likely to hover for a while. Nadia wanted to lie back in her pillows and sink into the welcoming numbness of the painkillers. That was all she wanted, all she was capable of wanting.

"Did the doctors talk to you? Are you going to be okay?"

"I can have other children," Nadia said flatly. "They didn't say anything about my daughter. I guess – I guess there wasn't really anything to bury. I don't know. I don't want to know."

"It was a girl?" Sydney whispered. "They told you that?"

"They didn't have to tell me." At last something pricked through the cocoon of medication – surprise. Nadia turned her heavy head to stare at Sydney. "Don't you understand, Sydney? Don't you see?"

Sydney shook her head. "Tell me."

"The prophecy. 'Two sisters will fight, and one sister will die.' We were the sisters who fought. But the sister who died – it was your other sister, my daughter."

Turning away quickly from the bed, Sydney hid her face. Her shoulders were shaking, and she didn't speak. Nadia's head lolled back against the pillows as she finally shut her eyes and began to drift away.

Just before she fell into welcoming sleep, Nadia murmured, "We should've known. Rambaldi told us. We always should have known."

**

 

When she woke again, Nadia understood instinctively that a lot of time had passed. Not enough, she decided. Maybe she could plead for more drugs, keep it going, and remain comfortably numb until all the hurt was over. Right now she was alert, able to sit up straight and look around – and then she gasped.

Jack stirred from his place in the chair in the corner. "Nadia."

"Jack. You're here." She almost wished that he wasn't. Jack wouldn't let her drift away. He would keep her awake and make her think. "Mom was in Istanbul. I figured it out too late. Were you able to stop her?"

"You and Sydney stopped her, with the Sunset. But I was able to take Irina into custody."

"What's going to happen to her?"

"I arranged for her to be turned over to MI6. They won't execute her; they don't know the whole truth. But if there's ever any risk of a plea agreement, we'll take her in ourselves. Irina won't be free again."

"Poor Mom. I know it's fair, but – she'll hate that."

"I'm not sure how much difference it will make, really."

Nadia didn't know what he meant. She didn't want to ask, either. Asking would mean talking, and talking would mean remaining awake.

"Can you call the nurse for me?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But I think I'm due for a shot."

He studied her face carefully as he came to her side. She thought he knew why she wanted the drugs; surely a man who used whisky the way he did would sympathize. He didn't question her, but he didn't call the nurse. "We should talk."

"Jack, I can't. Not yet." He said nothing, but Nadia could tell he wanted to press the subject. She'd have to distract him. "Did they tell you about Dad? That he saved me at the end?"

"What?"

"He could've stopped Sydney, but he didn't. I can't prove it. But I know."

Although Jack was not a man to take many things on faith, he nodded slowly. "Then I'm glad."

"Have you spoken to Sydney?"

"I haven't seen her. I came here right away."

"You should talk to her. She blames herself for what happened and doesn't believe that we won't blame her too."

"That's absurd. It was obviously an accident."

"It happened the way it had to happen." Nadia shrugged. "See if you can get through to her. I can't."

Jack's gaze turned sharp. "What do you mean, the way it had to happen?"

"The prophecy."

"I don't understand."

Nadia explained the prophecy as she now understood it. Jack's eyes closed for a few moments when she said the word "daughter," but he made no reply for a long time.

Then he looked steadily into Nadia's eyes and said, enunciating each word, "It was an accident."

"That's what I said. An accident that had to happen."

"No." Jack gripped her hand tightly. "It was only an accident. It doesn't have anything to do with a prophecy. It's just an accident."

"How can you say that? Two sisters will fight, and one will die – that's what he wrote –"

"And up until today, everyone believed that you would be the one who died. If Sydney had fallen instead, if she had been the one to – then Rambaldi's followers would have interpreted the prophecy to talk about Sydney. If you'd recognized each other and not fought, they would have said that the fight was still coming. If you'd died in your coma, they would have said the fight was Sevogda." Jack's voice was getting louder and louder, battering through the haze, waking Nadia up. "The prophecy could mean almost anything. So it means nothing. What happened to you was – an – accident."

"Don't say that." Nadia's throat was beginning to tighten, and she wished desperately for another shot. "The nurse ---"

"I want to hear you say it was an accident."

"I can't."

"Nadia." Jack cradled her face in his hands, the touch both loving and demanding. "It's important. Say it."

If it had only been an accident, then the miscarriage was random. Meaningless. A prophecy was irrevocable, inarguable, an expression of something beyond human control. Accidents were preventable. If she'd lost her baby because of an accident, then she didn't have to lose the baby. It didn't have to happen.

"It didn't have to happen," she whispered. Her body had begun to shake. "It was an accident. It didn't have to happen. I want a reason, but there's not a reason. There's nothing. There's just nothing."

He pulled her into his arms, and for the first time since she'd fallen, Nadia began to cry. A sob wrenched itself from her, and then there was no holding the rest back. She'd thought she was hollowed out; she'd been so wrong. There was too much inside her, too much grief and guilt and anger, and if she cried forever, she'd never cry it all out.

_I told myself Rambaldi foresaw the baby. I told myself that was why I went ahead with the pregnancy. But I was lying to myself, because I needed a reason to keep the baby and I wouldn't admit that I was the reason. _

While she wept, Jack held onto her. His embrace was so tight that Nadia knew he wasn't only trying to comfort her, but to steady himself. When he buried her face in his hair, she prayed to the baby they'd lost: _ I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We didn't know we wanted you until you were gone. _

 

**

 

_Then_

Los Angeles, California

 

CIA safe houses left a lot to be desired, in Nadia's opinion.

The first one she'd been in – just three weeks ago, though it felt longer -- had been hardly more than a shack. The sister she'd met earlier that day had been across the room, sitting with some gray-haired man with suspicious, watchful eyes. The father she'd dreamt of her whole life had held her hand and made her promises – then promptly kidnapped her in the middle of an ambush he'd arranged himself. So, not only zero atmosphere, but also zero security. No points there.

The second one, the one in LA she'd inhabited for the past week, seemed to be safe enough so far. But it was even uglier than the shack. Nobody had ever tried to pretty up that shack, so it had at least been simple; somebody had attempted to make this place cozy and inviting, and that person had failed miserably.

Also, to judge by the avocado green appliances in the kitchen and the thick, multicolored carpet, that person had committed his many mistakes sometime in the 1970s, and nobody had seen fit to fix then in the decades since.

Nadia sighed and flopped back on the couch, stealing a glance at the broad, mirrored panel along one wall. Were the CIA agents on the other side of that wall as bored as she was? Or had they stopped observing her by now? Sydney had said it wouldn't be long. Only a formality. What she had been good enough not to say was that probably many people were suspicious of Arvin Sloane's daughter. Even now, in her T-shirt and blue jeans and pigtails, there were people ready to assume she was a terrorist in the making.

Well, eventually they would release her. When that happened, Nadia intended to change some things about her life for good:

1) No more waiting around for her father. Nadia still did not know how to interpret either his betrayal or his defense of her in Kyoto, but from now on, she would negotiate any relationship with Arvin Sloane on her terms.

2) No more substituting father-figures for her father, either. The next guy she dated would be nice. Normal. Within 10 years of her own age.

3) No more Rambaldi. If she never saw those brackets-and-oval again, it would be too soon.

4) No more espionage. That resolution hurt – Nadia liked this work and knew she was good at it – but so far, it had mostly brought her trouble.

5) No more international travel for a while. How long had it been since she'd spent more than two weeks in Argentina? She needed to reconnect with people there, to slow down for a little while and figure out who she was, in the light of everything she had just learned.

6) No more isolation. The one unquestionably good thing about the past few weeks was learning that she had a sister, and that her sister was somebody as amazing as Sydney Bristow. Nadia didn't want to stay in Los Angeles too much longer, but maybe Syd could come see her in Buenos Aires – and phones and e-mail could help them catch up, too.

In short, everything about her confused, mixed-up life was going to change for the better. Nadia was willing to try, anyway.

A knock on the door that led to the CIA rooms of the safe house made Nadia sit upright. That would be dinner. When she was in town, Sydney usually brought something to her, but hadn't Sydney said she'd be gone? Maybe it would be Vaughn. He'd come along with Sydney a time or two.

Instead, she opened the door to reveal an older man, probably in his 50s. He held a large brown paper bag as stiffly as a palace guard would hold a rifle, and he wore a trenchcoat, suit and tie that were all the color of asphalt. Nadia realized that she recognized him; he was the third member of the party that had rescued her, the one who had come along with Sydney and her father. She hadn't seen him since. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Dinner. Sydney requested that I bring you something." He paused, then seemed to decide that was an inadequate explanation. "Actually, she requested that I tell Vaughn to bring you something, but he's otherwise occupied."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." Nadia held her hands out for the sack, which was heavy and warm in her arms. "What is this?"

"Chinese food. American-style Chinese food, anyway. I didn't know what you would want, so I made a few basic selections."

Nadia took out a crinkly, translucent envelope and looked curiously at its contents, which looked vaguely like a small, deep-fried burrito. "I've never had Chinese food before. American or authentic."

"If you'd prefer something else –"

"I'll try anything once." She took a bite. It was nothing like a burrito – it was much better. Crisp and juice and both savory and sweet at once. "I like it, I think. What is it?"

"An egg roll."

"Yes. I definitely like it. Thanks again."

That should have been the man's cue to leave, but instead he stood there, arms rigid at his sides, studying her.

Cocking her head, Nadia asked, "Is there something else?"

"I thought we should probably talk. Introduce ourselves. Given everything, it would probably be prudent to establish some foundation."

What on earth was this man talking about? He didn't seem to be going anywhere, and Nadia was hungry, so she decided to play it his way. She held out one hand. "Nadia Santos."

The simple politeness seemed to surprise him, but he shook with her. "Jack Bristow."

"Bristow. That means you're – Sydney's father?"

"You didn't know that?"

"No. I thought you were just another agent. Maybe Sydney's boss."

"Hardly." Jack said it so dryly that Nadia almost thought he was joking, but surely a man so stern didn't do much joking. "I suppose Sydney hasn't explained our family situation."

"She's explained some of it." Nadia called to mind what Sydney had said. They shared a mother, but different fathers. Nadia's father was Arvin Sloane, who had briefly been the lover of KGB agent Irina Derevko. Sydney's father was Jack Bristow, who had for 10 years been the husband of Irina Derevko, never knowing either that she was KGB or that she had betrayed him with his best friend. Her eyes widened, and she blurted out, "Oh. The family situation. Okay. This is – probably the least fun you've had in a long time."

"Don't worry about that." His smile looked inflexible, as though he seldom used it. "You aren't responsible for your parents' mistakes."

"But it's awkward."

"It doesn't have to be awkward for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're doing a very good job of acting like you're letting me off the hook without actually letting me off the hook at all."

Jack studied her for a few seconds after she said that. Nadia had spoken in irritation and was surprised to see that he wasn't annoyed in return; on the contrary, he seemed satisfied. Though he was clearly a cagey man, he apparently liked frankness in others. "You're not on any hook. But the situation is complex. I'm not going to insult your intelligence by pretending it's not."

"Fair enough."

"Sydney thinks very highly of you. She tends to trust in her first impressions."

"And you don't?" Nadia realized this man probably trusted in almost nothing.

But Jack surprised her by saying, "I trust Sydney. "

Nadia smiled. "Then we have at least one thing in common. Do you think that's enough of a foundation?"

"That's all that matters." Jack straightened his coat. "I'll be going. Leave you to your dinner."

"All right. Thanks again for the food." She lifted one hand in a wave. He simply nodded at her once and walked out the door without saying goodbye.

How could so formal and cold a man have raised anyone was warm and generous as Sydney? Nadia shook her head as she began unpacking her dinner – enough food for four people, really. If Jack Bristow was aloof, at least he was also thorough.

Then she reminded herself that there was little point in psychoanalyzing the man. No matter how close a relationship she might have with Sydney in the future, it was unlikely that Nadia would ever form much of a relationship with her sister's father. Jack Bristow could only be glad to see the last of her.

 

**

_Now_

 

Johannesburg, South Africa

 

"I can stay longer," Sydney offered. She sat opposite her father in the small cafeteria on the ground floor of the hospital, each of them nursing a paper cup of coffee as dawn slowly brightened the sky. Her plane back to the States would leave within the hour, and her car would arrive any second. "Vaughn can manage with Isabelle for a few more days. If you need me, I can be here."

Jack wanted to simply tell her no. The offer reflected Sydney's irrational guilt for the accident on Sloane's roof, not any real need on his part or Nadia's. Although the world situation was still volatile and would be for a while, already governments were re-establishing order, and transit routes were clear. Every Stripe victim had recovered and left the hospital by now, which meant that the staff could take more than adequate care of Nadia. They would be able to check out in a couple of days and return home without any difficulty.

But there were other kinds of needs, and Jack remembered Nadia's admonition about vulnerability. He didn't like her suggestion, but he would try.

"It would help me more if you can come by after we get back," Jack admitted. "Regularly, I meant. To visit, to make sure Nadia gets back into her usual routine. Having you in our lives every day – it would help."

His daughter's hand rested on his forearm. "I promise."

Their eyes met, and Jack managed to smile for her. During the past three days, she had been a constant presence in the hospital, tending to every need Nadia had and the few Jack would admit. Sydney had not blinked an eye when Jack and Nadia took each other's hands, and she talked to the doctors and nurses about "my father's wife" as often as she did "my sister," which probably made for good gossip at the nurses' station. It was not the acceptance Jack wanted – this had been bought at far too high a price – but real understanding would take time. At least now they had time.

"What about you?" he asked.

Sydney glanced at the window, as though scanning the horizon for her answer. "It's confusing. Mom's in jail for the rest of her life, and I have to accept that we'll never get through to her. And what happened to Nadia – it's going to take a while to deal with that." Her thumb brushed the rim of her coffee cup. "Still, this huge weight has lifted. We finally did it. We finally beat Rambaldi's followers at their own game."

"You don't believe this nonsense about the prophecies anymore?"

She shrugged. "I think I've decided it doesn't matter. Maybe Rambaldi foresaw this. Maybe he didn't. We'll never know, and from now on, there's no reason for anyone to care."

"Good."

Jack thought that they had been spared from falling into Rambaldi's most dangerous snare: the perfect anesthesia of predestination. Irina and Arvin had used Rambaldi's prophecies to dull the ache of the terrible losses in their lives; in so doing, they had numbed themselves to loyalty to their loved ones or responsibility for their own actions.

Istanbul had made Jack realize that, in his own way, he had been as much a fatalist as Irina. No, he'd never blamed Rambaldi's prophecies for any lack of free will – but how long had it taken him to believe that his relationship with Sydney might really be mended? And how many chances with her had he wasted because of his conviction that his daughter would never love him again? When he encountered Irina again, both of them were so sure they were bound for mutual destruction that neither of them ever sought any last chance at salvation. Then he had repeated the pattern with Nadia. From the very first time he had touched her, Jack had been anticipating how he would lose her.

But Nadia had knocked him off his old trajectory, interrupting his life as violently as he had hers and changing him more than he had thought he could still change. Jack knew he was done writing his own endings. He hoped Nadia would agree.

Sydney's cell rang, and a quick glance at the message made her sigh. "Okay, that's my car. Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?"

"Look in on Maxine," Jack said as they edged away from the table and Sydney shouldered her bag. "And call sometime when Isabelle is awake."

"I'll get her laughing and put her on the phone."

"Perfect."

She went up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Jack put his hand on her hair for a moment before Sydney turned to leave. He walked out to watch her go, and as the taxi pulled away, she turned back to wave goodbye. Her smile was brilliant in the pale light.

 

**

Nadia dried her face with a towel and blinked, open-mouthed, at her reflection in the mirror. Given that she was able to walk around easily now, and the doctors would release her to return home soon, Nadia wasn't inclined to worry too much about her appearance. But she thought that maybe she looked better in some indefinable way – stronger, maybe.

When she heard a knock at the same time she heard the door opening, she knew it was Jack and turned to smile over her shoulder. "Did Sydney get away all right?"

"Fine. Have you been up all this time?" When she nodded, he appeared satisfied. "We'll go outside for a short walk later."

"That sounds wonderful. I'm so sick of pale green walls. Why does every hospital all over the world buy the same color paint? Is there some international paint cabal?"

"You've seen too much of hospitals."

"I intend to see less of them in the future. This time, I plan to go as many as two or three years without a major health crisis." Nadia walked back toward the bed, slipped out of her white terry robe and eased herself back beneath the covers. Jack smoothed the blanket over her legs and plumped the pillows behind her head, so that she could sit up easily. "You take good care of me."

He didn't reply at first, though Nadia could tell something was on his mind. Jack sat on the bed, not exactly next to her but by her feet, where he could lay one broad hand on her ankles. "This might be an ideal time for us to discuss the future."

"Oh. I – all right."

"I've startled you. I should have waited to bring this up later."

"It's okay." She felt weirdly disconcerted. Oughtn't she to have expected a talk like this? But she didn't feel ready. Whatever Jack was about to say, Nadia wasn't at all sure she wanted to hear it. "If there's something you need to tell me, please, go ahead."

Jack patted her ankles once, then looked at her apologetically. "I realize it's too early to make any plans, much too early, but – when you're ready, if you want, we could try for another child."

Too shocked to reply, Nadia simply stared at him.

"If it's too soon for us to talk about this –"

"It's all right. But – before, you were so upset, and the things you said – you really meant them, Jack. You aren't sure about being a father again."

He considered her words for a while before he answered. "Having children someday is important to you. If I plan to remain your husband, then I have to plan to give you the family that you want. And I want to remain your husband, if you want to remain my wife." He hesitated briefly before adding, "If you need time to make up your mind, take all the time you need. But if you already know that you don't want –"

"We'll talk about it later."

Jack nodded and slid off the bed, obviously certain that he had pushed her too hard. "Back home, then. In a couple of weeks, after you're settled."

"That's not what I meant." She held her hand out to him. "We'll talk in a year or so, maybe. We'll decide if we want children then."

"Ah. Good." He took her hand.

"We're not done," Nadia said simply. Jack smiled a little. _He loves me_, she thought to her father, wherever he was.

Nadia closed her eyes and tried to imagine what that future would look like, but she couldn't. That was all right. She'd seen too much of the future already. Time to take life as it came.

 

THE END


End file.
